


Another Unexpected Journey - Richard's Story

by shieldmaidenofscotland



Series: Another Unexpected Journey [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom, Richard Armitage RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 72,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldmaidenofscotland/pseuds/shieldmaidenofscotland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you spend three hours a day with someone in your space, messing with your face for eighteen months?  Bringing The Hobbit to the big screen wasn't the only journey for Richard Armitage in New Zealand (and beyond).</p><p>Follow this Richard Armitage fan fiction from pre-production in New Zealand to its post BOFA conclusion.</p><p>The same events experienced by two people, what they think and feel, is fascinating.  I've written this Richard Armitage fan Fiction twice - from both Richard's and Mairead's points of view. Richard's version of events will be posted here, and Mairead's is posted in "Another Unexpected Journey - Mairead's Story". The chapters for each character correspond to the other point of view.  While they individually stand on their own, it’s best to read them concurrently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jollytr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jollytr/gifts).



> While this story could be said to be "based on true events" it is absolutely a figment of my imagination. Yes, I use real places and people, but I don't know any of them so they're really just settings and characters in a story. No offense or disrespect are intended. All original characters, places, and events are my own creation. Fluff, fantasy, and escapism are absolutely intended.
> 
> Rated explicit for (much later) chapters.
> 
> This is my first ever attempt at publishing a fic. I welcome constructive criticism, but please be gentle.
> 
> This story wouldn't exist without the support, praise, and buttkicking of Jollytr. Thank you, my friend.

**Chapter One - First impressions**

Richard stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his hips as he walked to the sink to shave. Maggie probably wouldn’t have wanted him to, but as she had pointed out, his mum would kill him if he had stubble in the photos. Of course, his mum would kill her if she showed up in sackcloth today like she had threatened, but _he_ wouldn’t. He’d marry her in haute couture, her threatened sackcloth, fig leaves, or nothing at all if it’s what she wanted, though he hadn’t told her that.

He just wanted to marry her. Maggie was right when she said the piece of paper didn’t matter, it was how they felt about each other that counted. But somehow, and he knew it was silly and hopelessly old-fashioned, calling her his girlfriend just never seemed important enough or _permanent_ enough. _Partner_ sounded like a business arrangement. _Significant other_ sounded…well, significant other _what_ , exactly? How about _lover_? No, too Lady Chatterley. So maybe he was silly and old-fashioned, but he wanted his Mairead to be his _wife_.

His Mairead.

He couldn’t quite remember a time when he didn’t think of her that way. Even in the beginning, when she was “just” his make-up artist, he still thought of her as his – not in a belonging _to_ him way, but a belonging _with_ him way. From the moment they met, it had felt like that, even if he hadn’t quite realized it at first. Moments like that should be obvious, but somehow they never were. There should be flashing neon, herald trumpets, or a heavenly choir announcing that your life was about to change in ways you couldn’t conceive; but instead, it had seemed just like another day in pre-production…

@@@

Richard had never had a casting of his head made, but it certainly didn’t sound pleasant. He could think of many, many things he’d rather be doing, but he figured this was just one of the less fun parts of acting. He just hoped it didn’t take long.

He checked the instructions he had been given for meeting the prosthetic artist again – “building C, 10 am, Mairead Drummond, bring an mp3 player or CD of music you love” – and walked in to the workshop. There was only one person there and she was leaning over a worktable and writing something. She didn’t seem to have heard him walk in.

“Hi,” he said, holding his hand out and she took it. “You’re…Mairead?”

He watched in dismay as she stood gaping at him with her mouth half-open. It happened sometimes when he met someone new, but never with a crew member. He wondered if maybe she wasn’t who he thought she was, but she had her ID around her neck. _Is there something wrong with her?_ He sincerely wished there was someone else in the room.

“Um, are you okay? I’m Richard and I’m supposed to meet with you?” He was speaking to her the way he would a very small child and still nothing. “You’re making a mold of my face. You ARE Mairead, right?” He pitched his voice a little louder. _Maybe she’s deaf?_

“Yes. No…That is, sorry, I’m fine,” she said with a pronounced Scottish accent. She blushed a little and laughed. “I’m sorry, but I…you said my name right.” She sounded mystified. He could certainly identify, and he started to relax a little and not worry she was going to go full fangirl. “I’ve had this conversation so many times and I just automatically plan to say “it rhymes with parade” but you said my name right and I had no idea what to say instead. I’m so sorry.” She covered her mouth and laughed. _She’s kinda cute when she’s embarrassed._

“If it would help, we could start over and I’ll mispronounce it for you.” Her laughter was contagious and he couldn’t help smiling.

“No thanks, I think I’ve got it now, but everyone calls me Maggie, anyway. The only time I’m ever Mairead is with my family or in end credits. Please, have a seat.”

He sat in the makeup chair as she perched on the edge of the worktable and picked up a clipboard and started writing. “How do most people say it?”

“What? Oh. MAY-reed,” she said without looking up and kept writing. “Richard…Arm…itage…”

“You said _my_ name right.”

This time she turned her head to look at him and they locked eyes. She had the biggest, darkest brown ones he’d ever seen. “Well,” she shrugged. “I’ve got an advantage. I _have_ heard of you.” He resisted the urge to smile. _Whoa. Fifteen seconds ago, I was worried she was a fangirl, now I’m oddly chuffed that she’s heard of me?_

She stood and turned toward the table to put the clipboard down, and when she turned back around, it was like she had flipped a switch. The cutely embarrassed nervous giggler had been replaced by…well, just another makeup artist. He couldn’t help be a little disappointed.

“Okay, Richard, I’m going to try to get you out of here as quickly as possible, but I need to ask you a few questions first. Have you ever had your head casted?” He shook his head. “Okay, well, I’ll be honest – it’s not the most pleasant experience but I’ll try to make it as painless as I can. Have you ever suffered from claustrophobia?” Another head shake. “Okay, good, but I do need to warn you that occasionally, people who aren’t prone to claustrophobia can still panic. That’s what the music is for – to give you something to focus on. Did you bring some?” He pulled his iPod out of his pocket and scrolled to a playlist and handed it over. “Great. Now, if you do panic, your first instinct is going to be to move your face and start trying to tear the mask off. It is _vitally_ important that you not do that. If you feel like you’re going to freak out, stamp your feet on the floor or pound the armrests with your hands. I’ll try to get the mask off you as fast as possible, but I’m also going to be trying to salvage it. I’m using fast-setting silicone so even if it hasn’t been on for the full amount of time, I might still be able to use it. This is important because you’re not going to want to go through all of this again. If you panic once, you’re far more likely to do so a second time and it will happen sooner. While I’m working, I’m going to ask you how you’re feeling periodically. The most important thing – and I can’t stress this enough – is do NOT try to talk. I’ll ask simple yes/no questions and I want you to answer with a thumbs up or down, okay?” He gave her a thumbs up and she favored him with the ghost of a smile. “Good. You’ll probably get annoyed with me for asking too often. I promise I’m not trying to treat you like a child, but I feel it’s better that than not ask enough. Do you have any questions?” He gave her a thumbs down and this time, she gave him a slight smirk.

She connected his iPod to a dock and started his playlist and got to work. After she got the cap on his head and was prepping his face, he noticed that her hair, which she wore in a long braid and he had initially thought was brown, was a deep, dark auburn. He also noticed that she smelled of peppermint and he theorized that was on purpose – he had seen her put a stick of gum in her mouth before she got started and he found that oddly endearing. She spoke as she worked, keeping up a running commentary to explain what she was doing as she was doing it. And true to her word, she asked how he was doing often. _She must expect me to freak out._ It wasn’t, he’d have had to admit, a pleasant experience and he did briefly feel like he couldn’t breathe when she worked around his nose, but fortunately, that didn’t last long. He found it helpful to concentrate on the music, and he was thankful she’d thought of it.

“Okay, Richard, now we wait. How are you feeling?” Thumbs up, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Good. I forgot to mention that some people actually manage to fall asleep now and I need you not to do that. Whether you wake up on your own or I wake you, you’ll likely freak out when you can’t open your eyes and mess up the mold. So stay awake, okay?” Another thumbs up and she patted his arm.

It was an odd feeling, lying back, mouth and eyes effectively glued shut, unable to move and without the option of looking at the timer he knew she had set. It wasn’t nearly as bad as waterboarding, but he thought it might make a fairly effective torture technique all the same. Finally, thankfully, the timer went off and she started giving him instructions on how to help loosen the mold. It was only a few minutes until he was free. She rather distractedly handed him a towel to wipe the prep medium off his face and was already inspecting the mold. It almost seemed like she had forgotten he was there.

“You’re very…efficient.” He hadn’t intended to speak the thought aloud.

She gave a short laugh. “Well, yours is somewhere around the…” she trailed off to think, “…four hundredth head-casting I’ve done so it’s a bit of a science by now. We’re all done here, by the way. This looks perfect and you did great.” He felt like he had been dismissed and for reasons he didn’t understand, he didn’t like it.

“You’re not doing hands?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure how the hands will be done or if you’ll even need to be casted. They’ll let you know the where, the when, and the who like they did with this.”

“Oh. You wouldn’t be doing it?”

“I might,” she shrugged again. “Or I might not. Depends on when they want it done and if I’m finished making thirteen Dwarf-head models or not.”

“Ah. Well. It, um, was a pleasure meeting you…May-reed.”

Her eyes flashed, but then she grinned as she took the bait. “Oh no, the pleasure was all mine…Monsieur Armitahzh.”

Ah. There she was. He definitely preferred this animated version of Maggie to the slightly robotic makeup girl, though why he should have a preference at all was beyond him. Still, he chuckled as he left, pleased with himself for getting her professional veneer to crack.


	2. How do you solve a problem like Stephen?

If Richard had thought about it, he probably wouldn’t have expected to see Maggie again so soon. He hadn’t thought about it, but was still surprised when he and Graham were grabbing some lunch in the canteen a few hours later and she walked in. Graham saw her first and his face split into a huge grin and he greeted her like an old friend.

“Mistress Maggie!” She returned the smile and walked over to them.

“Hi. Have either of you seen Stephen Hunter? Someone said they saw him come in here.”

They used their height to scan the room for her and Richard spotted Stephen sitting at a table by himself with his back to the room.

“Over there,” he said. She thanked him and walked off in the direction he was pointing. “’ _Mistress_ ’ Maggie? Old friends, are you?” he asked Graham as they followed her, tacitly agreeing to join Stephen.

“Nope, never met her before this morning.”

Richard grinned. He knew that if you put any two Scots near each other anywhere in the world, they’d gravitate toward each other and bond – even if it was only over being away from home. He wondered if she’d met Ken Stott yet.

Maggie stopped a few steps short of Stephen’s table, and it was then that Richard noticed his body language. He was sitting slumped and hunched over the table and everything about him screamed dejection, and Maggie was clearly dithering. Graham looked a question at him and Richard could only shrug as they sat down.

“Stephen?” Maggie said as she laid a hand on his shoulder, but Stephen wouldn’t look up. “Could I talk to you for a moment? Outside?”

“You can just say it here.” Richard had never heard someone sound so glum.

“It will only take a moment, I promise.”

Stephen didn’t answer and Maggie just stood there unsure how to proceed. Whatever the problem was, she clearly felt bad for him.

“What’s going on?” Graham asked, and before Maggie could answer, Stephen did.

“I freaked out with that stuff on my face and screamed like a little girl and ruined the mask and she’s here to offer pity.”

Richard saw Maggie’s eyes narrow fractionally as if she were sizing up the situation. She crossed her arms and looked at Stephen coolly. “The hell I am.” Stephen, if possible, hunched over further but Maggie was undeterred. “I was trying to do this discreetly because as far as I’m concerned, what happens in the chair, stays in the chair, but I can do it here. You don’t get _pity_ because you’re not the first person to panic, there’s no way you’ll be the last, and as far as strength of freak out goes, you’re not even in the top ten. So no pity here, sunshine. You are, however, quite possibly the most apologetic person ever to lose it during a head-cast, so you’ve got that going for you.” When Stephen finally, slowly, turned his head up to look at her, she was grinning.

And he burst out laughing.

“I’m really sorry, I-“

She held up a hand and cut him off. “I told you – you’ve nothing to apologize for.” She pulled a chair from another table up to theirs and sat. “What I came to tell you was, I’ve had a look at the mold and it’s not as bad as I thought. I won’t know if it’s usable until I try to make the model from it, but even if it isn’t, you’ll not have to sit and go through that again.”

“I won’t?”

She shook her head. “There’s no way I’m putting you through that again. I’ve rung up a friend of mine who’s written software that will let us scan your head and fortunately, he owes me a favor. I’ve also managed to track down the friend of a friend who has access to a super high quality 3-D printer. Once I get a copy of the software, we’ll scan your head and 3-D print it and I can make a model from that. So no more blue goo for you.”

Richard couldn’t help asking, “why don’t you do it that way all the time?”

Maggie turned to answer, but Richard got the impression she wasn't really looking at him. _Odd._ “It’s not ideal. It’s more complicated and difficult, and fairly cost-prohibitive. I’d guess that in a couple of years, as the technique is perfected, that’s the way it’ll always be done and I’ll never have to spread slime on someone ever again. But until then, we go with what works best. But not for you,” she said as she turned back to Stephen. “In fact, even if I _can_ use what we’ve already done, if you can spare me some time, I’d like to scan your head anyway. That way, I can give you the file and if you ever need a mask done in the future, you’ll just need to find someone to print it for you and you never have to worry about this again.”

Stephen looked extremely relieved and grateful. “I…thank you,” he said simply. She smiled. “Better?”

“Much,” he nodded as she started to stand. “You want to join us?”

“Oh, thanks,” she said as she returned her chair to the other table. “I would, but I’ve just blown through my lunch hour and my next victim will be wondering where I am in about two minutes. But a little advice – get someone to find you some really good chocolate. You’ll be right as rain again in no time.”

She clapped Stephen on the shoulder and walked away. Richard watched her progress through the canteen and out the door, and he wondered – for the first time, but certainly not the last – at the Many Faces of Maggie: nervous giggler, officious professional, diplomat, and problem solver. He wondered how many other faces she had. He also wondered why he was disappointed that she didn't stay to lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story and would like to hear Maggie's side of things, it can be found at: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3396572/chapters/7433609


	3. Chocolate and lies

Two days later, Richard saw another side of Maggie. Or maybe it was sides? He wasn’t sure.

They had finished the morning table read and had a break for lunch before the afternoon training session. He packed up his script and notes and saw Stephen getting chocolate bars out of his bag.

“Skipping lunch?”

“What? Oh. No,” Stephen said with a smile. “I’m going to go drop these off for Maggie first. They’re just to say thanks for…well, being so great with me acting like a giant baby.”

“You mind if I walk with you?” _Um, why? I have no reason to go see her._

“No, not at all.” If Stephen thought it an odd question, he didn’t show it.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I didn’t like it either. There was a point where I felt like I couldn’t breathe, or couldn’t get enough oxygen or something and I got pretty close to panicking myself. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I know,” he said, and it seemed he really meant it. “I can be a real drama king sometimes.”

They were laughing as they got to the workshop. They asked someone for directions to where she’d be and managed to find it after turning the wrong way only once. Stephen knocked on the open door and walked in.

“Maggie?”

She was the only one in the room - sitting on a high stool with her back to the door at a worktable. Every surface of what must be her work area was covered with Dwarf heads. Richard recognized two of his own from the noses. _Creepy_.

“Maggie,” Stephen repeated, this time louder as he walked deeper into the room.

She still didn’t respond, but they saw her put down whatever she was working on to stretch. Stephen tapped her on the shoulder.

“Mag-“

She screamed and moved so fast that Richard would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. She spun off her stool, yanked what he realized were earbuds out of her ears, and came to rest facing them in a distinctly defensive position with her weight balanced so she could shift to go on the attack, if necessary. But why in the hell it might be necessary, he couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Jesus,” she said as her hand went to her chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry. I called your name a couple of times, but I guess you didn’t hear me,” Stephen explained as Richard looked on in concern. _That wasn’t mere fright, that was terror._

She laughed, clearly embarrassed. “Someday, I’ll learn not to listen to my music so loud. Did you need something?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh god, it’s not Thursday, is it? Are you here for me to scan you?”

Stephen chuckled. “No, that’s tomorrow. I brought you something,” he said and held up the candy bars. “I overheard you telling someone you had a craving the other day and I wanted to say thank you anyway, so… This one’s for being so great when I lost it, this one is for saving me from having to try again, and this one…is for lying to me.”

She had initially been clearly touched, but then her face changed almost imperceptibly. It was so subtle, Richard wondered if he’d imagined it.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s all part of my job, but… _did_ I lie to you?”

No, he hadn’t imagined it. Her face was too still, and her voice was too casual. Stephen had caught her out and she knew it, but she was determined not to give anything away.

Stephen shrugged. “Thinking back on it, there was never a chance that any part of the mold you did would be usable, and if I know that, then you had to know it. But you lied to make me feel better and I appreciate that.”

She relaxed just the tiniest bit and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Okay, you caught me. But honestly, there’s no need to thank me. I promise – it’s all part of the job.”

“Maggie, it’s just a couple candy bars. Please take them.”

This time, the smile was genuine. “Oh, I’m taking them. I never, _ever_ turn down chocolate. I’m incapable. I just want you to understand it’s not necessary.”

_She's clearly relieved. Why? Because she got away with a tiny, lit-? Oh. She’s not relieved she got away with THAT lie. She’s relieved he doesn’t know she told a bigger one. Interesting._

“Understood,” Stephen was saying. “See you tomorrow?”

“If tomorrow is really Thursday, then yes. And thanks for the chocolate.”

Stephen turned toward him to leave and Richard was suddenly seized with an almost manic desire to know what _else_ she had lied about, so he told him to go on ahead and he’d join him in a moment.

Maggie frowned at him. “Can I help you with something?” That wary tone was back.

Richard glanced over his shoulder to make sure Stephen was gone, then he casually crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door jamb.

“What else did you lie to him about?”

She went completely still, tensing as if about to bolt. “Excuse me?”

_Quite a flight or fight response she has_. “You were relieved when he explained how he knew. You lied about something bigger and you’re glad he still doesn’t know it, but you’re afraid he’ll find out.” He wasn’t accusing her of anything, but he wasn’t asking, either.

She waved it off. “Well, if that’s the case, it wouldn’t make much sense to answer your question now, would it? Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t get how this is any of your business,” she said as she perched on her stool and leaned back a little too casually on the worktable.

He ignored the offense-as-defense challenge because it wasn’t any of his business and he knew it, but something impelled him to keep going. “At a guess, I’d say he is in the top ten biggest freaks outs you’ve ever seen.”

She laughed as she spun away from him and back toward the table. “I’ve done over four hundred head-casts. Do you honestly think I can name who panicked and who didn’t and rank them?”

“That’s exactly what I think. And if I weren’t right, I think you’d just have said so.”

She slammed whatever she had picked up to pretend she was going back to her work with into the table, slid off the stool, and charged past him to shut the door, checking the hallway first before doing so.

“Yes! Okay? Is that what you want to hear, Sherlock? Congratulations! You cracked the case!” Her voice was low, but dripping with sarcasm and she stepped up so close to him he almost couldn’t lower his head enough to see her face. He towered over her, but paradoxically felt powerless in that position. “The truth is, only one person has ever freaked out in a bigger way and it’s really almost too close to call, but Stephen actually managed to stay conscious. Do you feel better for knowing that now? Because he sure as hell wouldn’t, and I swear to god…“ _Did she just stamp her foot?_ “…if I find out you’ve told him that, I’ll…well, I don’t know what I’ll do but you can be damn sure that you won’t like it.”

That, clearly, was not as threatening as she’d have liked, but she didn’t back down.

“You lied to him to spare his feelings, but you feel bad about it.” That definitely wasn’t a question, though he didn’t understand. He was honestly baffled.

She looked at him in surprise and he could see her anger dissipate. “Oh, for the love of Freud.” She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “YES! I don’t like lying to people. Even if I do have a reason,” she added almost apologetically as she brushed past him a second time to sit at her worktable. He got the impression that she really just wished he’d leave. “I should think in this business that might be refreshing,” she added not quite under her breath enough for him not to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“This whole industry,” Maggie explained with a sigh as she turned to face him again, “it’s predicated on falsehoods and fakery. Actors pretend to be something they’re not. I make people _look_ like something they’re not. Soon, you’ll spend hours standing in front of a green backdrop that will turn out to be a mountain or a spider’s web or a dragon or something. I know that’s all part of telling a story, but this business runs on arse-kissing and sucking up so I try not to add to it if I can help it.”

_Quite the odd duck, this girl_. “It was a nice thing you did,” he said quietly. “And he won’t hear it from me, I swear. But how did you know the tough love would make him laugh?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t. I actually thought he’d get pissed at me, but I figured that was better than the self-pity. I took a shot and it worked out better than I’d hoped. I get lucky sometimes.”

“You’re quite the diplomat, it seems.”

She laughed gruffly. “Most production companies list that as part of the skillset for this job, actually. We do deal with actors and their fragile little egos, you know.” Her eyes widened in dismay. “Present company excluded, obviously,” she said, drily.

That made him laugh. “Nice save, May-reed.”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Are we done here, Oakenpest? Can I get back to work while you go swanning off to do something glamorous and no doubt swoon-worthy?”

_Oakenpest? Swoon-worthy? I do NOT swan!_ “Yes, we’re done here,” he said as he moved to the door and opened it. “And to answer your question, it _wasn’t_ any of my business. I was just curious,” he said and left, chuckling at the shocked look on her face.

He got a few steps down the hall and stopped. _What the bloody fuck was THAT all about, Richie?_ He didn’t understand how someone could be such an open book on one hand and still manage to surprise him on the other. It wasn’t as if he’d never known complex, contradictory people before, but… Most people didn’t baffle him. What, exactly, _was_ it about her? And why the hell did he even care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie's story can be found at:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3396572/chapters/7433609


	4. This is only a test

Rehearsals, costume fittings, weapons practice, movement training, Khuzdûl lessons, lather, rinse, repeat. And then came the makeup tests. Richard had never spent so much time in a makeup chair and the process was…a challenge. He wasn’t used to sitting so still for so long and doing _nothing_. He tried to make the best of it – to spend the time fixing Thorin’s backstory in his mind or thinking about what they’d done earlier in rehearsal, but mostly he just stewed about all the other things he could be doing if he weren’t sitting there having things glued to his face.

The first time was nearly unbearable and he seriously wondered whether he’d be able to learn to deal with any of it. Three people worked on him for what seemed like the entire morning, and when they were done, he looked…well, a lot more severe that he’d envisioned. Even worse, he felt like he couldn’t move his face and he _needed_ to be able to move his face. How the hell could he act without being able to move his damn face? It didn’t help that half the people in the prosthetics truck thought he looked like a Klingon. Something had to be done. Fortunately, he didn’t have to lobby too hard for softening up Thorin’s appearance, but that, of course, meant more makeup tests.

He tried to make himself relax and not fidget or sigh, but it was harder than he’d anticipated. He could only hope that once shooting started, he could use the time to prepare for whatever he’d be doing on set that day. Until then, he’d just have to bear it as best he could.

It wasn’t until the fifth or sixth (or was it the seventh?) test that Maggie was one of the people working on him. She greeted him as he sat down.

“Hey. Are you sick of this yet?”

He wasn’t sure if he should really answer that truthfully so he just rolled his eyes a little and made a noncommittal grunt.

“You’ve probably spent more time in a makeup chair in the past week than you have in your entire career, I’m guessing,” she said as she got ready to start and he looked at her in surprise. “With the exception of Lucas’ tattoos – which I assume were stenciled and airbrushed – you probably haven’t had to spend much time in the chair at all, have you?”

“Not really, no,” he sighed.

She smiled. “It can take a while, but most people do get used to it eventually. I’m sure you will, too, Oakensigh.”

She winked and got started with the cap. _Oakensigh? What was it the other week? Oakenpest?_ Clearly, this was going to be a bit with her, but he was surprised to find it didn’t bother him. In fact, he felt slightly more relaxed than he had for the other tests. She may have been having a laugh with it, but she made him feel like maybe she understood. At least that’s how it seemed to him. Or maybe he _was_ finally getting used to things.

One thing he’d say for Maggie: she didn’t seem to need to chat while she worked, and for that he was glad. He really was trying to think Thorin-esque thoughts and making small talk was decidedly NOT Thorin-esque. He had just been musing on Thorin’s childhood when he became aware of Maggie gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Okay, Oakennap, wake up. You’re done.”

_I was asleep?_ “I wasn’t asleep. It’s hard to hear. Because of the ears,” he protested, pointing to the offending appendages.

“I’m sure it is. And you were asleep.” She was grinning. “You’re needed in wardrobe as soon as your hair is on.”

Richard nodded and thanked her then headed off for his wig and then to get kitted out in wardrobe. From there, it was off to the soundstage where he clomped around striking poses and making faces for the camera and it was decided that the forehead still wasn’t _quite_ right (in truth, he agreed). Then it was back to wardrobe to get his costume off and then back to the prosthetics trailer to have his hair and face removed.

The trailer was full when he got back to it, with seemingly every other Dwarf there for the same reason. The makeup artists were working as fast as they could, but there was a wait. With so many bodies packed into so tight a space, the temperature had risen considerably. Maggie had just gotten Jimmy’s face off and while she waited for Ken to sit down, she took off her sweatshirt and threw it in a corner.

“THAT’S where I know you from!” Richard turned to see Ken pointing at Maggie, who looked like a startled gazelle.

“ _Charlie’s Army_ ,” he read from her t-shirt. “You lot worked on _King Arthur_ , didn’t you? You were the girl with the bucket of blood that you’d splatter on people during the battle scenes. Why did you not say anything?”

“Oh my god, that WAS you,” Graham interrupted before Maggie could answer. “You could have mentioned it, lass.”

Clearly, Maggie wasn’t comfortable being the center of attention. “I didn’t…” she shrugged, embarrassed. “I was crowd only. I didn’t work on anyone credited, so we didn’t actually meet. I spent most of my time in the soldiers’ tent.”

“Still, I wish you’d said something,” Ken said as she started to remove his hair and beard. “I’ve been wracking my brain for a month trying to remember where I’d seen you before.”

She laughed.“Say what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’ve not met but I worked on the same film you did seven years ago. I was the blood girl’? That wouldn’t have sounded at all odd.”

“So you’re with Charlie’s Army,” Graham said. “Are you a member?”

“An original,” she answered. “Charlie’s my cousin. My dad and his mum were brother and sister.”

“But I thought it was a rule that everyone in the Army had to be trained in stage combat.”

“Aye, it is,” she replied as she pulled Ken’s forehead off and tossed it in the bin where it landed with a splat.

Graham gaped at her. “You’re combat trained? In what, exactly?”

“A few things,” she hedged.

“Such as…?”

She sighed then counted off on her fingers, “short sword, long sword, broadsword, short bow, longbow, crossbow, and basic hand-to-hand and I can manage most of that from horseback.”

“What have you been in?”

“Well, I’ve only gotten to use the fight training twice – in a tv movie about Boudica and in _Robin Hood_ last year. I was on the beach at Dover fighting the French, but I’ve never been able to find myself. Mostly I’ve been “third villager on the left” in some of the other things we’ve done because there’s not a lot of call for short women fighters. Oh, but I did carry a basket of bread past the camera right before William Wallace’s wife almost gets raped in _Braveheart_. That’s probably the high point of my career. I peaked early. You’re done, by the way,” she said to Ken.

“You’re far too young to have been in _Braveheart_ ,” he said as he got to his feet. “That was what, fifteen years ago?”

She laughed. “It was filmed almost seventeen years ago, and that’s how old I was. I’ll let you lads do your own math.”

“So why are you doing this,” asked Graham as he sat in her chair. “You could be scale doubling.”

“It’s my day job and I happen to like what I do, thank you very much.”

Richard didn’t hear any more of the conversation as a chair opened up at the other end of the trailer for him. That night, when his brain just wouldn’t wrap itself around Khuzdûl, he decided to Google Charlie’s Army, and found out that they were a group started by a man named Charlie as simple re-enactors, who had gone on to amass enough weapons and fight experience that they were no longer regarded as extras, but combat specialists. They had appeared in _Gladiator_ and _The Eagle_ , as well as the things he’d heard Maggie mention; and they were currently in the process of building a working medieval fort on family farm land.

Well then. Maggie certainly was an interesting specimen, quite unlike any other ma… _But wait. IS she really unlike any other makeup artist I’ve worked with?_ For all he knew, he realized with surprise, EVERY makeup artist he’d worked with had had extensive combat training. Maybe they were ALL building medieval forts in their spare time. It wasn’t like he’d really gotten to know any of them, and it wasn’t like he really knew _her_ except for what he’d observed of her in a few brief interactions. He felt a little shallow realizing that other crew members he’d worked with had backstories that he’d never gotten to know, but then as Maggie herself had pointed out, he hadn’t had to spend a whole lot of time in makeup before now. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she _was_ unlike anyone he’d worked with before, and he supposed he’d have ample time to find out.


	5. Is that a nipple in your ear or are you just happy to see me?

Finally. Richard had been in New Zealand for three months and shooting had _finally_ begun. He thought he’d have been nervous waking up that first morning, but he wasn’t. That might have had less to do with his frame of mind and more to do with the four-thirty am makeup call. He wasn’t awake enough to be nervous until he was on set and ready to work. It was amazing to him how fast he got used to the schedule. Morning wasn’t his favorite time of day and now he had to be up at the arse-crack of it six days a week, but he managed to fall into a comfortable routine fairly quickly.

Most mornings, it was primarily Maggie who worked on his face, and he liked that. She didn’t seem to need him to converse beyond a simple greeting and would work pretty much silently. The hour, his mood, his impatience with the prosthetic process, and his need to focus on getting into character for the day made communication a chore. Simply put, he just didn’t have it in him to make small talk or be witty, and he was glad that Maggie didn’t need him to do so.

Richard was also grateful that she was willing to move and work around him whenever possible so that he had the freedom to review that day’s script pages or read through his notes. She’d even smile apologetically at the times when she had no choice but to stand in his way. Quite possibly the best part of her working on him, however, was that she was the one person in the trailer that didn’t complain on the mornings he decided he needed to listen to music to help him prepare. He tried to keep those mornings to a minimum because everyone else was quite vocal in their objections to his choices, but not Maggie. He knew she’d turn it off a millisecond after he left, but she never complained when he handed over his iPod.

That wasn’t to say she was some kind of über-forbearing saint around him. There was one morning about a month into shooting where he arrived in a particularly testy mood. He was late, having hit snooze one too many times; and then he had whacked his toe on the bathroom door and gotten stuck behind a slow-moving lorry on his way to the studio. She greeted him and he didn’t answer and she had to ask him repeatedly to stop scowling so she could get his forehead and brows on. He was behaving badly and he knew it, but he couldn’t find it in himself that morning to care. He ended up closing his eyes to block everything out. He knew she was speaking, but with the damn ears on, he had no idea what she was saying…until her mouth was mere centimeters from his ear.

“Hey, Oakengrump! I said you’re done. Now get out of my chair.”

He jerked so hard in surprise that he almost fell and gave her a look that was halfway to a snarl, but bizarrely, he felt the urge to smile a little for the first time that morning. _Oakengrump_. The teasing should bother him, shouldn’t it? But it didn’t, somehow.

Probably because she worked so well with him, he didn’t mind her having a bit of fun at his expense. It wasn’t that he thought himself above anyone else, but he had a very specific process for getting into this character and she seemed to understand that and be willing to let him just get on with it.

Occasionally, Maggie would be busy working on someone else. Richard _hated_ those mornings. Invariably, he’d get stuck with someone who wanted to chat, which stressed him. He didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t there for small talk. The whole situation made him peevish. Even worse was the day she worked on Stephen, and Richard could hear her laughing a few chairs away. _Maggie? Laughing in the morning? What the hell was THAT?_ Fortunately, those days weren’t a frequent occurrence and she’d be working on him again the next day. _As she should be_.

She was helpful on set, too. Every time there’d be a break, an entire team of hair and makeup people would descend for touch-ups. Maggie was one of the quickest and least invasive about it. She also had an enormous array of little necessities squirreled away: protein bars, pain relievers, antacids, gum, candy, and an extra bottle of water in case the production assistants were busy elsewhere. It wasn’t all for him, obviously, but whenever he needed something, she seemed to have it.

Simply put, she made it easier for him to do his job. After the first few makeup tests, he honestly wondered how he’d ever learn to cope with it all, but when Maggie was around, she seemed to have a way to make all the external bullshit just disappear so he could focus on the job at hand.

The last hurdle he really had to conquer was that it was just so bloody damn hard to hear through the Dwarf ears and hair. He actually did briefly consider hearing aids, but when in the hell would he find time to go get them? A possible solution came to him one day in an unlikely way.

He was standing in line to get a coffee one Sunday afternoon behind a young mother with a toddler in a stroller. Richard had been standing there, trying to think of anything he could stick in his ears to funnel the sound when the little boy in front of him threw his bottle to the ground during a tantrum. Richard bent to pick it up and took note of the nipple and the way the milk flowed down into it. _Hang about – that’s pliable and funnel-shaped. It’s too big to fit as is, but if I cut it_ … He handed the bottle over to the harried mother and got out of line and headed straight to the nearest chemist.

Twenty minutes later he was back home with a dozen of the smallest nipples he could find, cutting the tips off, and sticking them in his ears. It took quite a bit of trial and error to find just the right spot to make the cut. When he finally did, he was confident that his idea _would_ work to amplify sound at least a little, but he couldn’t seem to keep the bloody thing _in_ his ear. He reasoned that it would have to be glued in place, and for that, he would need help. There was only one person he thought to ask. He texted Maggie.

_Can you glue a nipple in my ear?_

It never occurred to him that that might be an odd question to ask, especially for the first time he ever texted her, so her response came as a surprise.

_Um…wtf? Richard???_

_May have solved hearing problem. Cut the tip off nipple for a baby bottle but it won’t stay in my ear. Needs to be glued. Can you do it?_

_I guess so. Is this some weird practical joke?_

_NO! Am entirely serious. Hate to ask, but can you come early tomorrow so we can try this?_

_Sure. 4 am?_

_Perfect. Thank you_.

Maggie was waiting for him when he got to the trailer, and she greeted him with a yawn. He held out the cup of coffee he’d brought.

“Here. I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You brought me coffee?” As she reached out to take it, he pulled it back.

“I should have asked. Maybe you prefer tea?”

She smiled and took the cup. “I _prefer_ whatever caffeinated beverage someone is handing me at the moment.” She lifted it to her lips but set it down again before drinking it.

He frowned. “Is there something wrong with it? I got mocha because I figured with the chocolate…”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m sure. Mocha is perfect – and yes, anything chocolate,” she added as she smiled. “I’m just going to wait until after we’ve finished. But thank you for it.”

“It’ll be cold by then. Go on.”

“Um…coffee breath?” She made a face.

 _Oh_. “Maggie, I’ll survive one morning.” He laughed. “I’ll breathe through my mouth. Drink it.”

She gave in. “Okay, but only because this hour of the day is truly evil.” She took a few sips. “Mmm…mocha. So, show me the nipples.” She giggled.

He sat and pulled them out of his bag. “I know you think I’m insane, but…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re insane. All that matters is if it works for you or not.”

He showed her how they sat in his ear, then handed them to her. “There’s only one problem. That’s the last pair I have, so I, um, need a favor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go buy you nipples?”

“I… After I finally figured out how to cut them, I went back to the chemist’s to get more, but I, uh, got recognized and, um…”

Richard could tell she was trying not to smirk. “And, um…you were too embarrassed to buy nipples in front of your adoring public?” She was openly smirking now and he couldn’t look her in the eye. It was all so very stupid.

“Well, it…I…it was…I was going to buy as many as I could and it just seemed…” He was at a loss for words. “I bought gum instead. This is the kind you usually chew, right?” He pulled the pack out of his bag.

She laughed, and he couldn’t actually blame her. “Oh god love you, Oakendork. Yes, I will go buy nipples for you, Richard. And there’s a sentence I never anticipated saying.”

“Thank you,” he said with relief and laughed with her. “I owe you.”

She waved him off as she applied the glue to the first nipple. “All part of the glamorous world of filmmaking.”

The nipples worked better than he’d hoped, and he’d have had his first really comfortable day on set if he hadn’t made the mistake of telling people about his little trick. There was no end to the hilarity on set, and if he thought Maggie was done having a laugh about it, he was sorely mistaken. He sat in the chair that night as she yawned her way through taking his face off. When she pulled the nipples out of his ears, she shook her head and said, “just like a man not to know what to do with nipples when he has them. Oakenfool thinks they go in his ears,” and laughed…until she saw him staring at her open-mouthed.

“I…I didn’t mean…” she stammered and blushed fiercely. And he burst out laughing. “My mouth will get me killed one day, I swear,” she said as she laughed with him.

He waved her off. Frankly, he was happy to see a slightly naughty side to the usually so overly efficient Maggie. He thanked her again for coming in early and for running to the chemist’s for him and prepared to head home. As he was leaving the studio, Richard walked out with one of the makeup supervisors and just happened to casually mention how helpful Maggie was and how much he appreciated her attention to detail and that he liked the days she worked on him. He stopped short of playing the movie star card and making demands, but afterward, the days she was assigned to work on someone else got fewer and further between. Just the way he wanted it.


	6. Keep calm and do NOT say calm down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarf sausage and sneezes and panic attacks, oh my!

Maggie had to be one of the most evenly-keeled people Richard ever met. As the shoot progressed, he marveled at her ability to maintain her placidness through almost any situation. Every once in a while, though, the façade would crack just a little and he’d get a glimpse of the Maggie behind the exterior. And those moments were always memorable.

There was the time on set when he was talking with Martin during a break about the prosthetic hands with the giant, thick fingers and how… _visually disappointing_ they’d make certain activities – like using the loo. He hadn’t seen Maggie approach them for touch-ups until she spoke.

“You _could_ tell them you’d feel more authentic with some Dwarf sausage between your legs, but I’m pretty sure doing that particular life-cast for the prosthetic is far, far above _my_ pay grade. Well, to be fair, either that or I’d need to pay _you_.”

Martin could barely breathe he was laughing so hard. She froze with a brush almost to his face as her eyes went wide and she turned a shade of red he’d never seen on a human before.

“Oh fucking hell,” she said with her eyes fixed firmly on the ground. “I’m going to go die in a corner now.”

She walked off and sent someone else over to do their touch-ups and Richard laughed so hard his sides hurt. She didn’t come within fifty feet of him for the rest of the day, so of course, he made sure it was _her_ chair he sat in that night to have his face removed. She had her back to him as he sat down, so he just smiled and waited. When she turned around she hid her face with her hands.

“Not. One. Word.”

He laughed. “’Dwarf sausage’?”

Her head flew up and she put her hands on her hips. “What did I just say?”

“You said ‘not one word.’ Dwarf sausage is two words,” he pointed out with a grin.

She _wanted_ to be mad at him – he could tell – but she couldn’t do it and laughed instead. A few days later, however, karma bit him in the arse for finding her embarrassment so funny and it was his turn to be mortified.

She was removing his face and was having trouble pulling an eyebrow off when he had one of those sneezes that erupted out of nowhere. He didn’t know it was coming and there was no time to warn her, and her face was only inches from his and…her mouth was open. She pulled back with her eyes closed and cringed.

“Bless you? I guess.”

“Oh my god, Maggie. I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t know it was coming, I swear. I’m so sorry.”

Calmly, she reached for a towel to wipe off her face. “That was probably not what most women dream of when they fantasize about swapping spit with you.”

“Maggie, I’m so –“ She was laughing and suddenly, he was, too. “No, really, I _am_ sorry.”

She waved him off. “Believe me, that’s not the worst that’s ever happened.”

“It isn’t?” She shook her head. “Do I want to know?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s pretty gross.”

“Well, now I _have_ to know.”

Maggie smiled. “I had to do an arse cast of an actor who didn’t realize that’s what he’d be doing with his morning. Unfortunately, he’d spent the night before consuming Mexican food and too much beer. Just make sure you put the word “explosive” in front of whatever you’re imagining right now,” she said as she went back to peeling off the prosthetics.

“You’re making that up.”

“The hell I am. The hell I _could_ ,” she shuddered. “So you see, a little spit isn’t so bad, really.”

“Talk about being above your pay grade.”

She gave him a warning look. “Shut up, Oakensneeze.”

Wisely, he did. _Oakensneeze. A bit obvious, that one._ She could have made some joke about his nose. _He_ would have. And speaking of noses, she had just pulled his off.

“May I have that?” He asked, before she could throw it in the bin.

She made a face. “Ew. Why?”

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “Souvenir?”

“You’re kidding me. That’s been used! It has dried glue and sweat in it! Not to mention the fact that you just sneezed through it,” she said with a look of utter disgust on her face.

“I…well, it’s proof that my Dwarf nose _is_ bigger than my actual nose.” He avoided looking at her. _She’ll think that’s stupid._ If she did, she was kind enough not to mention it and merely shrugged.

“It’s your nose, I guess.” And she handed it to him.

The next morning, she was waiting for him outside the makeup trailer.

“Hey, Oakennose, hold out your hand.” He did and she placed something in it. It was soft and rubbery and…it was a prosthetic nose. “Looks like one of these has gone missing from the workshop, so if anyone asks you about it, you know nothing, yeah? Just please promise me you’ll get rid of that disgusting used one?”

And that was the first and last time she ever made a joke about his nose. Her level of empathy probably shouldn’t have surprised him, but somehow, it did. A lot of things surprised him about her, but none more so than the night she hit him.

It was September, the second week after the break in filming. Richard had had one of the rare days of no prosthetics so he hadn’t been to the makeup trailer at all. As he was walking to his car, he heard a loud banging in the mostly empty parking lot. Looking around for the source of the sound, he was shocked to see Maggie repeatedly kicking what he assumed (and hoped) was her car. As he approached her, he could hear her half yelling and half sobbing as she kicked and beat her fists against the car.

“Motherfucking stupid piece of shit cocksucking stupid car!”

“ _Maggie?!?_ ” She either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him because the flow of invective and physical violence didn’t miss a beat. “Maggie, stop!” There was still no response so he moved in and wrapped an arm around her waist and then lifted her away from the car. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell do you think _you’re_ doing? Let me go!”

“Not until you tell me why you’re beating up your car. That _is_ your car, right?”

“YES IT’S MY FUCKING CAR. PUT! ME! DOWN!”

He did, but not before positioning himself between her and the car. He leaned against it and looked at her. “Are you trying to break a hand or something? Why are you beating up your car, Maggie?”

“Because I…BECAUSE I CAN’T DO THIS! HOW COULD I DO THIS? HOW COULD I JUST UP AND LEAVE FOR A YEAR? WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO IT? HOW DO YOU DO IT? HOW DO YOU JUST GO TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE world and just…” she trailed off on a sob.

He frowned. “You didn’t go home during the break?”

“NO I DIDN’T GO HOME DURING THE FUCKING BREAK! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH AIRFARE IS BETWEEN HERE AND THERE? MAKEUP ARTISTS DON’T GET PAID THE WAY MOVIE STARS DO AND I – Oh god, why did I think I could do this? Why did I think it would be okay? It’s not okay. I’m not okay. Oh god, I can’t breathe…”

He watched as she bent over and took horrible, loud, rasping breaths as she tried to get air in her lungs. _Holy shit, she’s not kidding. She really can’t breathe_. He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a standing position.

“Maggie, listen to me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe and calm down.”

She moved faster than he could ever have imagined was possible for someone who wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Her head snapped up and her hands flew to his chest and she hit him with the double tap that allowed someone to push a much larger person away from them. The first tap was to upset an attacker’s balance and the second was delivered fast enough so that they couldn’t recover and would be forced backward. She hit him hard enough and he was so surprised he fell back against her car.

“NEVER EVER TELL SOMEONE WHO’S HAVING A PANIC ATTACK TO CALM DOWN! DON’T YOU THINK IF I COULD FUCKING CALM DOWN I WOULD?”

And then she doubled over again and he had no earthly idea of what to do. Luckily, Stephen Hunter heard the commotion and hurried over.

“What’s going on?”

“P-panic attack,” Richard stammered.

Stephen’s eyes went wide and he gently wrapped an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “Maggie? Maggie, it’s Stephen. I’m going to help you breathe, okay? Let’s get you sitting down.”

Richard could see Maggie nod as Stephen walked her over to the car and then helped her sit on the boot.

“Remember the 7-11 breathing?” Stephen stood in front of her so that he took up her entire field of vision. “I’m going to count for you, and you just breathe all right, sweetheart? You just listen to my voice and breathe.”

And then Stephen started to count – to seven for an inhalation and eleven for an exhalation. Over and over he counted and held her hands and Maggie breathed. Richard watched as her body slowly relaxed.

“I’m okay. You don’t need to count anymore,” she eventually said, quietly.

“That’s how you knew what to do when I freaked out on you,” Stephen said. “You get panic attacks, too.”

She nodded. “I used to get them all the time. It was almost easier then because I could feel them coming on and try to stop them. But this, I… God, I’m so embarrassed.” She hid her face in her hands and Stephen gently pried them off.

“Hey, look at me. You wouldn’t let _me_ be embarrassed so you don’t get to be either, okay?” He smiled at her and she gave a small nod in return. “Are you okay now?” He got a bigger nod that time. “You want me to drive you home?”

“No, I’m okay. Promise. But thank you.”

“Anytime,” he smiled as she hopped down off the car. “You be careful going home,” he said as he hugged her. She nodded as she watched him walk away.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said quietly and she jumped. She had either forgotten he was there or thought he had left. The idea of the latter upset him.

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have-” She couldn’t look at him.

“I didn’t know, Maggie. I don’t think I’ve ever been around someone having a panic attack before. If I had known, I’d never have-”

She cut him off. “No, I know. It’s okay. Really. You had no way of knowing and if you’ve never seen one before… Oh god, I hit you. Oh god, Richard. Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh shit…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reached out to touch her, but was afraid to so he pulled his hand back. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“It doesn’t matter, I still hit you. And I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

“You were scared.”

“But that’s no excuse!

There’s no excuse for me hitting you ever! I’ll, um…I’ll have someone else work on you from now on and I’ll – “

 _What?!?! NO!_ “Whoa! Hold on there.” The hell with it – this time he didn’t stop himself as he reached for her, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. “You will NOT have someone else work on me! Okay, _you_ think there’s no excuse, but you’re forgiven anyway, okay???” He took a page out of Stephen’s book. “If you can forgive me for being ignorant, I can forgive you for hitting me when you were freaking the hell out, right???” He stared her down until she eventually raised her eyes to his. He forced himself to calm down and spoke more gently. “Right?” She nodded. “Good. Now why don’t you tell me what’s going on? You really didn’t go home?”

She shook her head. “No, I did a fill-in job for five weeks in Sydney then I came back here and just…kinda explored the North Island a little.”

“Why freak out tonight?”

“I got a call from my niece. She’s six and she doesn’t understand why I need to be gone so long. I’ve been gone for long periods before, but you know, I can usually get home at the weekends. Being halfway around the planet, I can’t. And she’s sad and she misses me and I miss her and she’s angry because the timing is just all wrong. When I’m coming into work, she’s not even home from school yet and when I’m finally home for the night, she’s getting ready for school or actually there. So there’s never any time. And I always used to read to her and she misses that. And I thought I could maybe call her sometimes and read to her so I brought some of her favorite books down with me and we do that on Sundays, but she’s got her heart set on “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” now and that was the one book – the ONE book – that I didn’t bring and it’s September and this is Wellington and where the hell am I going to find a copy of the bloody Grinch? And you probably think I’m really stupid.”

She teared up then, and that unnerved him more than her panicking or hitting him. He put an arm around her and squeezed.

“Hey," he said as gently as he could.  "I don’t think there has ever been a _less_ stupid reason for beating up a car and freaking out and hitting a major movie star in the history of the world.” He winked down at her and she rewarded him with a short laugh. “You’ll figure something out, Maggie. You’re a problem solver.” He smiled and squeezed her again. “But not tonight. Let me drive you home.”

“No, it’s okay. No, really. I’m fine and if you drove me home then I’d need a ride tomorrow. I can drive.”

“Then I’m following you to make sure you get there.”

“What? No. No, really.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Maggie.” He expected an argument, but she caved instantly and just nodded. “Good girl.”

They got into their respective cars and he followed her to a quaint residential neighborhood not far from the studio. He watched as she parked and got out, and he rolled down his window.

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” She nodded. “See you tomorrow?”

“Dark and early,” she said with a small smile. “And thanks…Oakenfriend.” He grinned.

“You’re welcome, May-reed.”

She gave him a bigger smile and then he watched while she walked up the stairs at the rear of a house and waited until he saw lights go on inside. The first thing he did when he got home was order a copy of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” with one-day shipping. He had an idea. She spent so much of her time solving problems, he figured maybe it was his turn to solve one for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story and would like to read it from Maggie's point of view, her story can be found at:  
> [Another Unexpected Journey - Mairead's story.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3396572/chapters/7433609)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	7. Dance like no one is watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard notices Maggie is a woman. And a liar. And a good cook.

The book arrived on Friday. _What did we ever do before the internet and one-day shipping?_ Richard thought about telling Maggie his idea on Saturday, or, at the very least, asking if she was free on Sunday, but he rather fancied just showing up and surprising her. If she wasn’t home, well, then he’d just have to try again the next Sunday. Having only one free day a week meant little time for the mundane details of life – errands, laundry, dealing with the mail - and he had let things slide for a few weeks. He tended to things as quickly as he could, but didn’t get to Maggie’s until almost four in the afternoon. He was happy to see her car. Unless she had traveled somewhere on foot, it meant she was likely home.

Richard climbed the steps to her flat, and could hear music. As he raised his hand to knock, he saw Maggie dancing around her kitchen. Maggie? Dancing? He stood off to the side of the door so that he could still see through it and watched for a few minutes. It was…surprising. Though he couldn’t clearly hear her, he could see she was singing along, using a wooden spoon as a microphone, to what he thought was Joan Armatrading’s “Drop the Pilot”. She was wearing an old, ripped pair of jeans and a tank top, and that long braid of hers whipped through the air whenever she turned. At one point, he thought he caught the glimpse of a small tattoo – was it a flower? – on the back of her left shoulder. He chuckled to himself. _I’m watching the wild Maggie in her natural habitat_. Her dancing was…well, it certainly wasn’t the most graceful, but it was free and joyful and silly and…

… _really, really freaking hot_.

Like blisteringly hot. _Wait. What?_ Richard felt as if his whole world suddenly shifted. This was…new. He stepped back from the door as if that could somehow change what he’d seen. _Did she just rub her ass on the refrigerator? I didn’t really see that, did I?_ He hesitantly took a peek through the door, hoping it had been a hallucination or a trick of the light or…

_No, no, no, no, no, Richie. You are NOT allowed to want the makeup girl. Well, THAT’S elitist, you twat._

He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to process this new development. He couldn’t go on standing there ogling her like that. He was starting to feel like a dirty old man, and he could only imagine what she’d say if she caught him. _Oakenperv. Oakenleer. Oakengetmearestrainingorder_. Fortunately, the song ended so the temptation to keep watching abated. The relief was short-lived, however, when the next song started and…

 _NO! She can NOT start dancing to THAT song!_ He knocked on the door, a little more loudly than he’d planned and she disappeared deeper in to the flat. A few seconds later, “I Touch Myself” stopped playing. _Thank god_. If she had started dancing again, Richard would have had to go home for a wank and would never have given her the bloody book. She opened the door and he had to brave the challenge of pretending he hadn’t just watched her dirty dance around her kitchen. Oh well, he was an actor, wasn’t he?

“Hi. I- Wow, what are you cooking? It smells amazing!”

“Oh, it’s just some meat sauce I threw together. It does smell good, though, doesn’t it?” She smiled. “To what do I owe the honor?”

He grinned. “I brought you something. May I come in?”

“Oh, sorry! Of course,” she said as she stood aside. “You brought me something?”

He pulled the Grinch out of his bag and handed it to her.

“How did you- _Where_ did you get this?”

“After I followed you here, I went home and ordered it.”

Clearly, she was stunned. “I- Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

He wasn’t going to honor that with a reply and waved her off. “Just wait – there’s more. I know you’ve probably already had your weekly phone call because it’s…“ he checked the time “…3 am back home, but I have editing software on my computer. You record the book and then you can send her the file and she can listen to it whenever she wants. It won’t be the same as having you there, or even on the phone, but maybe it will help some?”

“I…Wow,” she said quietly.

He grinned. “Maggie Drummond. Are you speechless?”

“Yeah, I know. It doesn’t happen often, so you should be flattered.” She laughed self-consciously. “Thank you,” she said. It was simple and obviously heartfelt.

“I have time now if you do.”

“Oh…okay, why not? The sitting room is just through there.” He went in and she followed him. “Oh, you’ll have to move the ears.”

“The _ears??_ ”

She moved around him to the coffee table and scooped up several pairs of tiny prosthetic elf ears. “Ears,” she said as she held them up for him to see. “Your scale double, Mark, has a little girl who’s going to a costume party next Friday night and he asked if I could turn her into an elf. She’s only eight, so stealing a pair out of the workshop is pointless and I’d get killed or fired anyway, so I made a few on my own. He’s bringing her in during lunch on Friday.”

 _Could this woman be ANY more surprising?_ “God, those are adorable and you’re an absolute sap when it comes to children, aren’t you?” She glared at him. “N-not that anyone will hear it from me.”

Maggie cleared off the table and they sat on the couch. Richard booted his Macbook and got the software running. “You ready?” he asked.

She started laughing. “Okay, this is just weird. I’m essentially doing an audiobook while sitting next to _you_.”

“Shall I fetch you some chamomile? Would you like to warm up? Do you need a bowl with no brown M&Ms?” She laughed even harder. “Woman, are you going to take this seriously or not? This is Dr. Seuss here,” he said in mock exasperation.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I apologize.” She cleared her throat and tried to look serious. “I’m ready.”

He started recording and Maggie started reading. She began hesitantly, but quickly found her stride…until the first time the Grinch spoke. Before she could read his dialogue, Richard jumped in and did it for her in the voice he had prepared on the short drive over from his place. She stared at him in shock while he nodded at the book to get her to keep reading.

“What are you doing?”

He stopped the recording. “I’m being the Grinch, of course” he explained. “Are you ready for take two?” He smirked at the befuddled look on her face. “Why, I do believe Maggie Drummond is speechless twice in less than ten minutes.” He let her flail for something to say for a moment, but she evidently couldn’t come up with anything. Rendering her incapable of a retort may have just made his entire month. “Oh come on, what did you expect? How could I let you read the Grinch when I will so obviously do a better job? I’m a professional, you know,” he winked.

“I don’t think I can afford a Grinch of your caliber.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m willing to work cheap. Voice work and editing services will run you the sum of one giant Dwarf nose. Which,” he paused to gasp dramatically, “you have already paid.”

She laughed then. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Nice way to talk to your voice talent. Now, once more from the top?”

She nodded and he restarted the recording. This time, she didn’t miss a beat when the Grinch spoke, and they were able to get through the whole book.

“Thank you,” she said quietly while he saved the file. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re welcome and I wanted to. I have a nephew,” he added, smiling. “Now, you want to sign me onto your wifi so I can mail this to you and you can send it to your niece?” He turned the computer toward her.

“So…about the other night,” she said as she typed and he knew it was so she didn’t have to look at him. “I wanted to say again th-“

“Stop. I told you then that you were forgiven.”

“But I-“

“Did you apologize to Stephen?” The question came out more gruffly that he wanted it to.

“N-no. Why? Is he upset with me?”

“No, but then, neither am I.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t hit Stephen,” she muttered.

“Yeah, about that – that wasn’t stage fighting you did there. That was real.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Is there a question there?” She got up and straightened a curtain at the window that didn’t need straightening.

“Where did you learn it?”

Maggie shrugged as she looked out the window. “I have older brothers who think because I’m on my own so much that I need to know self-defense. They were both in the army, and when they came home they taught me stuff. It’s no different than learning stage fighting, really.”

“You were pretty damn smooth with it.”

“They make me practice.” She smiled as she turned back to face him. “Hey, you want to stay for supper? It’s just store-bought pasta, but the sauce is all from scratch.”

It was obvious to him that she would have done just about anything in that moment to change the subject. It was also obvious to him that she was lying. _The woman who hated lying to Stephen, even with good reason, is now calmly and unrepentantly lying to me_. There were times afterward when Richard wished he had pressed her, but he decided to let it go. And he wouldn’t tell her about the twin bruises on his chest from her hands, either.

“Do you have enough?”

She laughed. “I can feed us both and have enough left over to freeze that I’ll be able to eat it twice a week, every week until I leave here. And I’ll probably still have some to give my landlady. When I cook, I overcook.”

“I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Great. I just have to run out and get some wine. I used the last of the red in the sauce. I won’t be long.” He offered to go, but she was already pulling a jacket and her purse out of the closet. “No, no, you stay and make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to anything you find – there’s white wine in the fridge or beer. And I’m a Scot so you know there’s whisky in the house.”

“Or I could kick back with some fine children’s literature.” He had spotted the pile of what had to be her niece’s books on an end table.

She laughed and left. _Well, isn’t this a day of surprises?_ It’s always an odd thing to be left in someone’s home alone with time to kill. _To snoop or not to snoop? That is the question_. Richard didn’t want to invade her privacy, so he got up and looked out the window. He’d exhausted the view in less than a minute and his eye landed on the iPod and dock in the entertainment center. He figured thumbing through her playlists wasn’t really snooping. A ton of Celtic stuff he’d never heard of, three enormous playlists of 80s tunes, classic rock, some pop, a lot of classical, and…Norwegian folk metal? _Well, it’s certainly varied_. He put the iPod back in the dock and saw a couple of DVD folders. The first was almost exclusively sci-fi and fantasy, which made perfect sense. The second was… _HOW many surprises are we up to today? Four? Five? I’ve lost count_. The second folder was a Greatest Hits in Chick Flicks. _The Holiday, Love Actually, French Kiss, American Dreamer, Dear Frankie, The Matchmaker, Jane Eyre, North & South, Ever After, An Affair to Remember, The Princess Bride_. She wasn’t just a sap when it came to kids, apparently.

Deciding that he wasn’t sure if he could handle any more surprises, Richard went into the kitchen. Maggie would likely be back soon so he figured he could put the water on to boil for the pasta. The kitchen was small enough that he didn’t have any difficulty in finding a pot. He filled it with water and set it on the stove.

“I said to get comfortable not cook.”

“I’m boiling water, May-reed. It’s not a hardship. God, you’re soaked.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she grinned. “If you’re so determined to be helpful, why don’t you open the wine while I go change? I got a pinot noir and a merlot. Your choice.” She fetched a corkscrew out of a drawer and handed it to him.

“What’s in the box?”

“Tiramisu. I hope you like it. I should have asked first.”

“Marry me,” he said with his hand over his heart.

She laughed. “Lovely though that proposal was, I’m afraid I can’t.”

He was uncorking the pinot. “You’re spoken for?” _Surprise number…what now?_

That made her laugh even harder. “No, not even remotely. But I don’t date actors.”

 _Oh_. He grinned. “I didn’t ask you to _date_ me. I asked you to _marry_ me.”

“Technically, you _commanded_ me to marry you. And I don’t take direction well,” she laughed as she went off to change.

Richard found wine glasses and poured the pinot and was just adding the pasta to the now-boiling water when Maggie returned to the kitchen.

“Okay, I didn’t invite you to dinner to put you to work. I’ll take over now.”

He handed her a glass of wine. “Yes, ma’am… Good lord, don’t they make sweatshirts in your size? That thing could fit three of you.” Along with the enormous Charlie’s Army sweatshirt, she was wearing leggings that made her legs look… _Stop that_.

She laughed. “I stole it from my brother.”

“And does it actually fit him?”

“Aye. Actually, I think it was a little tight.”

“Which one of you was adopted?” “Me,” she said as she stirred the pasta. “My real mother abandoned me, but I don’t like to talk about it.” _Oh, nice going, you stupid fuck. Now she’s…laughing?_ “I’m kidding! The family joke is that by the time my parents got around to making me, there were no size genes left.” She drained the pasta and dished it out, then covered it in sauce and freshly grated cheese. It smelled divine. “I’m sorry I have no proper table, so it’ll have to be the sitting room.”

They took the food and wine through and sat on the couch and started to eat.

“Oh god, this is incredible, Maggie.”

“I’m glad you like it because I’m probably going to give you some to take home.”

“Why don’t you just keep it and invite me for leftovers?”

The suggestion seemed to surprise her. “I could do that.”

He pointed to her sweatshirt. “So if you’re a part of this army thing, what are you doing here?”

“I needed a day job,” she shrugged. “In the fifteen years since the Army started, I’ve gotten to use my fight training exactly twice. There’s just not a lot of call for women with weapons, unfortunately, and I never really took to standing around all day just to have three seconds on screen doing womanly things. When _Braveheart_ came to town, I spent a lot of time in the crowd tents and I was fascinated with how they did the wounds and the scars and bruises and they’d have these big buckets of blood that they’d fling at people to do arterial spatter. I hung out there every chance I got, even when I shouldn’t have been, and I made friends with some of the makeup people. It was because of them that I got started. I still keep up with the fight training, in case I ever need it, but you know, this is a pretty great job. And the Army has an in-house makeup artist.”

“I am _dying_ to see you with a sword in your hand,” he said as he laughed.

“Pretty sure I could kick your sorry arse,” she taunted.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, and I KNOW I could outshoot you with bow and arrow.”

“Oh, it is _on_ , woman. I will annihilate you.” He tried to look threatening and obviously failed. “Do you ever do normal makeup on people? Not prosthetics, I mean.”

“I can and I have, but it’s not as fun. There’s not much challenge in making a beautiful person be slightly more beautiful. I’d much rather turn someone…well, like you,” she waved her hand to encompass his face, ”into someone like Thorin. So now that I’ve done all the talking, it’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

She poured more wine and appeared to think about it. “Tell me one thing about yourself that I couldn’t learn by Googling,” she said as she sat back and tucked her feet under her.

“Wow. Um… Okay. I get asked a lot what I’d be if I wasn’t actor, right? Well, I always answer that I’d be an architect because that’s probably true. But no one ever asks me what I’d be if I could be anything I wanted.” _Okay, that sounds a little pathetic_.

“So, Richard, what you would be if you could be anything you wanted?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.” Maggie crossed her heart. “In a perfect world where I could be anything, I would be…a rock star,” he said and immediately wished he hadn’t. He knew it had to sound stupid.

She cocked her head and looked at him and a smile threatened to appear.

“You promised not to laugh!”

“I’m not laughing. I’m picturing.”

“And you can’t, right?”

“Oh no. I can. I don’t even have to try that hard. I’m thinking season three Guy hair, the black poet shirt and the leather pants. The slightly dissipated look from too much drinking and hotel room trashing. The guyliner. Yeah, it’s really not that hard to see rock star potential there.”

“You watched _Robin Hood?_ ”

“Yes, we have television in Scotland now,” she said, laughing. “Hello, it was people running around the woods with swords and bows and arrows. That’s pretty much right up my street. And besides, my sister-in-law is _so_ in love with you. In fact, if I called her right now and said that Sir Guy was sitting on my couch, even without the leather, she’d –“

“Um, excuse you,” he interrupted and lifted his foot to display his leather shoe.

“I stand corrected. If I called her right now and said that Sir Guy was sitting on my couch, _wearing leather_ , she’d immediately leave her husband and fly down here.”

“Her husband? “ Maggie nodded. “And she’s your sister-in-law?” Maggie nodded again. “So she’s married to your brother?” Another nod. “It wouldn’t be the brother that fits in that sweatshirt, would it?”

“Well, they both do, actually. They’re twins. But he wouldn’t hurt you for it. Well, it’s probably closer to the truth to say he _wouldn’t be allowed_ to hurt you for it. You’re her freebie.”

“Her freebie?”

“Yeah, they have this deal where if she ever meets you and it’s a possibility, she gets to go for it with no repercussions. And actually, you’d be doing Hamish a favor because if _she_ gets _you,_ _he_ gets Scarlett Johansson.”

“So…you’re not going to call her, are you?” This whole conversation had suddenly taken a decidedly unnerving turn.

“Oh, I don’t have to. She knows you’re Thorin. She asks me all the time if I’ve met you yet and I keep saying you’re aloof and don’t mix with commoners. I’m pretty sure when Lizzie gets the Grinch that she’ll stop believing me, though. Ooh, and now I think about it, Lizzie’s going to fight her for you.”

“What? She’s six!”

“Yes, but to her, you’re the Flat Stanley Man.”

 _The Flat Stanley man_. He liked that. “She likes _Flat Stanley?_ ”

“Oh yeah, it’s her favorite book. I used to read it to her all the time, but then she saw you do it and suddenly, I wasn’t good enough for her. Personally, I can’t see the appeal, but as you pointed out, she’s six. She hasn’t developed taste yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what I’m hearing is that of the women in your family, the only one not impressed by me would be you.”

“You know, I guess that’s right. But then, I’m the one that knows you,” she grinned.

 _Ouch_. “You wound me, May-reed. You wound me,” he said with his hand over his heart.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Oakenpout. Would a piece of tiramisu make it all better?”

“It would be a start,” he allowed as she got up and stacked their plates. “Had I known we’d be doing this, I’d have thought to rent a movie.”

“I have movies and I’m sure you could probably find one. We can run my laptop through the telly. “ She crossed the room and got the two DVD folders off the shelf and handed them to him. “Here. Pick whatever you want.”

“Okay, but I’m not picking a chick flick,” he warned.

“Oh, uh, sorry – not that folder.” She took one away and put it on the table. “That’s all technical makeup stuff. That folder has the movies, and there’s not a single chick flick in there, smart arse.”

She took their plates out to the kitchen. _So she doesn’t want me to see the chick flicks?_ He wondered what would happen if he picked one out of the green folder, but then worried he’d be in trouble if he did. So instead, he picked one out of the approved blue folder. _Let’s see what she says about THIS_.

“Find anythi- Oh, you’re kidding.” He was sitting there with the DVD dangling off his finger.

“What? I haven’t seen it yet and I heard it was good.”

“You want to watch _Robin Hood?_ Really?”

“Yes, really. I like Ridley Scott’s films.”

“But it’s Robin Hood.”

“Maggie, does it bear _any_ resemblance to my Robin Hood?”

“No, not really.” She smirked. “Spoiler alert: Marian lives.”

He rolled his eyes. “Put the movie in, Maggs.”

Giggling, she did then curled up on her end of the couch with her dessert, and they fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the movie. He liked that she’d cut actual pieces of tiramisu. He was afraid she’d be one of those women who’d only allow themselves a tiny sliver, but her piece was just as big as his. And she hadn’t been stingy with the pasta and sauce, either. Momentary horniness aside, this was a woman he could hang out with. And she didn’t even object when he toed off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table. When the movie was over, she stretched and he stacked the dessert plates.

“No, leave them. I’ll take care of them after you’ve gone,” she said as she got up to turn off the movie.

He put his shoes back on. “So, the army on the beach…how many of them are you related to?”

“Probably about half. And we had people fighting on both sides. It’s always fun when you’re whacking someone you know,” she grinned.

“You _are_ going to go home for Christmas, aren’t you,” he asked as he packed up his computer.

She seemed taken aback by the question. “I…Yes, barring some unforeseen price hike. It’s one of the reasons I took the fill-in job in Sydney. I’ll likely even have enough for first class. Livin’ large.” She grinned and he smiled back.

He picked up his computer bag and headed for the door with her following.

“Thanks for dinner, Maggie.”

“Thanks for the audiobook, Richard.”

At the door, he stopped with his hand on the knob and turned to face her. “Promise me something.”

“That depends on what it is,” she said warily.

“If for some reason you _can’t_ afford to go home for Christmas, you’ll let me know.”

She was even more taken aback. “Um…w-why, exactly?”

He gave a gruff laugh. “Why do you think, Maggie? So I can help.”

“That’s…very nice of you to offer, but no.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I wouldn’t feel right doing that. No.”

“You called me ‘friend’ the other night,” he said softly. “Did you not mean it?”

“No, or I mean yes, I meant it. But being friends doesn’t mean ‘pay for my airfare’.” She was obviously flustered.

“Being friends means helping each other. When you need help, Maggie, all you need to do is ask.”

“Well, thank you, but I won’t. Need it, I mean.”

 _God, this woman is stubborn, but I’m not taking no for an answer_. He dropped his voice and pinned her with a stare and moved closer so she’d have to look up to him. It wasn’t often he’d use his size as a weapon, but he wasn’t above it.

“You know, you’re really cute when you think I’m negotiating, but I’m not, so I’ll put it more plainly. You _will_ go home for Christmas, Maggie Drummond. If you can provide yourself with the means to do that, great. If you can’t, then _I_ will provide the means to do it. And if and when I do, you will _not_ fight me on it and you will say ‘thank you, Richard’. Got it?”

She nodded and it was almost comical how fast she caved.

“Good. See you tomorrow, May-reed,” he said with a smirk.

“Good night,” she said as he opened the door and left.

Richard got in his car and headed home and reflected on the day. It had been pleasant, surprising, and _confusing_. Maggie seemed to have an endless capacity to surprise the hell out of him. That in itself was unusual. She also had this way of making him feel like just a normal person. Well, more normal than he’d felt in a long while. He just hoped that wanting her wasn’t going to prove to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned in this chapter, from the days when MTV ruled the world (and actually played, you know, MUSIC): [Drop the Pilot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifARMmcqhD8/) and [I Touch Myself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv-34w8kGPM/).


	8. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perception is everything.

All in all, it was a very good thing that being Thorin took so much focus because without that demand on his concentration, Richard would have been screwed. Unfortunately, if he thought that his sudden interest in Maggie was just a passing fancy or that things would get easier for him, he was sorely mistaken.

In the (thankfully rare) times where being Thorin _didn’t_ demand all his thought and energy, Richard found he was becoming almost hyper-aware of Maggie. Suddenly he noticed how, in order to give him space to go over his script or read through his notes, she’d have to straddle a leg while working on his face. She’d done it before, countless times, but now he _noticed_ ; and inevitably, he supposed, wondered what it would be like if she were straddling something else. _Or even better, how would it feel to sit in this chair while she gave me he-. Jesus, Richie, knock it off_. He’d have been prepared to swear that there had never been a detectable scent of perfume underneath the omnipresent odor of peppermint before, but now there was; and he was newly conscious of how her lips would part while she worked on him and that her tongue would occasionally emerge and… _Stop it, dammit. Just stop_.

His awareness of her wasn’t confined to just working hours. After almost ten months, he’d only ever seen her at Stone Street or at her flat, but then he saw her jogging as he was driving through Wellington on a Sunday morning and he almost ran a red light. Even worse was the Saturday night he’d been out to dinner with Andy at a local pub when Maggie walked in with Natalie. As unsettling as it was to see her with makeup and dressed better than she was for work, it was the first time Richard had ever seen her with her hair down. It was always in a braid when she had enough time in the morning to do it, or in a messy bun when she didn’t, and now it was loose and long and…it seemed almost indecent. _For Christ’s sake, this isn’t the nineteenth century and she’s not showing a scandalous bit of ankle_. But somehow, that’s how it felt. He wanted to touch it, he wanted to bury his face in it, he wanted to wrap it around his fists, he wanted to see how it would look flowing down over his body as she went d-… Richard drank a bit more than he usually did that night.

The absolute worst, however, was the day that shooting ended early and Graham arranged for Maggie to work with some of the stunties. Ever since he’d learned of her fight training, Graham (among others) hadn’t been shy about wanting to see her in action. Reluctantly, she agreed. First, they had her doing target practice. She wasn’t the best with a bow and arrow that anyone had ever seen, but she was competent (and damnably better than Richard was), and she looked bloody good doing it. Next came swordplay with their swordmaster putting her through her paces in stage fighting. It didn’t take long until he pronounced her capable of sparring, and Richard was glad that the fear of injury prevented him from facing her, because he was pretty sure she’d have had him on his knees within seconds. He couldn’t decide which was more excruciating – the times where she was able to drop her opponent or the times she was forced to yield. Both were equal torture, as was the fact that she became an instant favorite of the stunties she’d faced. It was like they had a new pet and Richard didn’t like that one bit.

Ultimately, he knew that Maggie wasn’t an option, no matter what his libido thought. The rule about not dipping his pen in the company ink existed for a reason (not that he’d never broken it): screwing around with someone on set could get unpleasant, especially with someone with whom he worked so closely and with so much time left on the shoot. Of course he _could_ always request that someone else work on him, but he was loathe to do that when they worked so well together. No, Maggie wasn’t an option and so Richard suffered in silence…most of the time. Then there were the times when he was home and the suffering wasn’t so quiet. Or passive.

The smart thing to do would have been to limit his interactions with her whenever he could. But the true hell of it was that as much as he wanted her and as much as he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, he also just liked being around her; so it became routine for him to ask her what she was doing for dinner on Sunday night and she’d either cook or he’d bring takeout. They’d eat and drink wine. Sometimes they’d talk for hours and sometimes they’d just watch a movie. Sure, he still wanted to shag her into the middle of next week, but he also just truly liked her company. Richard felt like _himself_ around her. They discussed movies, they talked about their families and their childhoods, they chatted about books and music and life and nothing. It was easy and it was comfortable.

Until scene 88.

Scene 88 was the first time they shot on location. They were out in the open, in the fresh air; the scenery was gorgeous, the weather was beautiful. And it was hell.

It was running. And running. And running. And running. And then there was the running. And still more running. They were in full costume, with all their gear, running from imaginary creatures and real stunties. All day, every day, for weeks. To say it was exhausting felt like an understatement. Even the most energetic among them were on their last legs. And still, they kept running.

Richard had never been the type of actor who let someone else do the hard work while he sat in pampered comfort sipping a latte (or he tried not to be, at any rate), which meant he fit right in with this bunch – none of whom ever wanted to be the first to say they couldn’t go on. There were so very many times, however, that he came awfully close. It was hot, it sapped every bit of energy he had, he hurt in places he couldn’t remember hurting before, and he felt at every moment that he couldn’t possibly take anymore. But still he forged on, like everyone else. Breaks, whenever they happened, became a refuge – a moment to be quiet and still and try to tap into whatever reserve of energy still existed.

Until someone came to fluff your hair. Or rebraid your beard. Or fix your fucking makeup. For the four billionth time.

All he wanted was a few precious minutes to himself, but before he even had a chance to take a breath or a sip of water, Maggie was suddenly there ready to poke and prod and touch up his face, and he just couldn’t deal with that then. Couldn’t she understand that he just wanted some time alone? Some time to rest? His face was fine – they weren’t doing close-ups anyway – so he waved her off.

He may or may not have growled at her and her eyes flashed and then narrowed while her nostrils flared. He’d pissed her off and he didn’t care.

“The way I see it, you have three choices, Oakenjerk.” She stood slightly off to the side of him and her voice was low with ill-concealed rage. “One, you suck it up and let me do my job as quickly as I can so that maybe you can have a few minutes to sit and rest. Two, you continue to scowl and snarl at me so that it takes longer and you _can’t_ have a few minutes to sit and rest; or three, I walk away because you won’t let me touch you and then you have to do it all again when they watch the playbacks and realize your nose has peeled off because that’s what it’s about to do. Choose.” _Oakenjerk??? So much for the famous sympathy of Maggie Drummond. Heartless witch_.

He hadn’t been looking at her, preferring to stare straight ahead not acknowledging her presence, but clearly, she wasn’t going to leave him the hell alone until she’d done what she came for. He slowly turned his eyes to her and didn’t bother trying to hide the contempt he felt.

“Do it.”

She had a job to do. He didn’t like it, but he did understand it. _Fine. Do it then and I’ll just go on pretending you’re not here_. Their relative height meant that he could stare off into the distance – straight over her head. Her empathy may have deserted her, but at least her efficiency didn’t. She finished with him in fairly short order. He didn’t even see her walk off.

That night, it wasn’t Maggie who removed his prosthetics.

The next day, she did apply them, but neither of them spoke beyond their simple exchange of “good morning”s. It seemed she had changed overnight – gone were the days where she’d offer an encouraging word during a break. In fact, gone were the days when she said much of anything at all. He had no idea what had caused the shift. She had been looking forward to spending some time outside in the sun, but now that she was here, she didn’t seem very happy about it. He couldn’t understand why – it wasn’t like _she_ had to run around in heavy Dwarf boots, leather, prosthetics, and a wig – but something had definitely changed. She was taciturn in the mornings, and nowhere near him at night. And there were no more Sunday night dinners.

_Whatever. Be that way._

It hurt, though, and that made him angry. He didn’t have time for this kind of shit. If she was going to be cold to him, that was just fine with him. Two could play at that game. He would treat her as she treated him – civilly, but cooly. He could do aloof, too.

Until one morning in the trailer when he heard Jimmy mention Christmas.

Richard reached up and grabbed Maggie by the wrist to stop her and said, “do you have your ticket home yet?”

She looked down at him in surprise – like she’d forgotten he could talk. “Yes. I do.”

“Are you lying to me?”

Her eyes flashed and she replied with asperity. “No, I’m not lying to you.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held on tighter.

“First class?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

He released her and she went back to applying his prosthetics. They were shooting the Azanulbizar sequence and he liked these scenes. They were physically demanding, but satisfying. He liked channeling his rage and pouring it out through the fighting. It was cathartic. At the end of the day, he’d be tired but he also felt lighter and freer than he had in over a month.

And then one night as he walked to his car, he heard Maggie laughing and he realized that was a sound he’d not heard in at least that long. He saw her standing by her car joking with a couple of the stunties. When he got in his own car, he watched her and he suddenly realized how much he missed her laugh and her jokes and the time they’d spent together, and he wondered what had happened that made her withdraw. Clearly, she didn’t treat everyone the way she’d been treating him and he didn’t understand. _How come she can joke and laugh with them the way she used to with me? What the hell did I do to deserve that? Everything was fine until that day she got mad at me because I didn’t want her fussing over my face when all I wanted to do was curl up in ball and die, and instead of offering sympathy, she insulted me and has been aloof ever since. It’s not fair, dammit._

He idled until she finished her conversation and she was unlocking her car, then pulled into the empty spot beside her.

“You want to tell me what I’ve done wrong?” It was, perhaps, gruffer than he meant to be, but oh well.

She turned slowly to face him as he got out of his car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said placidly – too placidly and it pissed him off.

“Don’t you? You’ve been treating me like I’ve got something you don’t want to catch for weeks and I want to know what the hell I’ve done to deserve that.”

She sighed. “You haven’t done anything, Richard. And I haven’t treated you that way. I’m sorry if you feel that I have.” She had the car door open and threw her bag in the back.

“Dammit, Maggie, I thought we were friends. Why the fuck did you decide that wasn’t the case anymore? We used to talk. We used to laugh. We used to spend Sunday nights together, for fuck’s sake.”

She paused in the act of getting into her car. “The only thing that changed about Sunday nights is that you stopped inviting yourself over, Richard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had an epically long day and I’d like to go home.” She got in, pulled out of her spot, and left him standing there.

 _I stopped inviting myself over? What the hell is THAT? She acts like she never…_ Well, to be fair, he guessed she HADN’T ever invited him. That first time he’d asked if she’d be interested in trying a new Thai place he’d found – he’d pick it up and bring it over, and after that… At the end of the day on Saturday, he’d ask what she was doing for dinner on Sunday and she’d reply that she was planning to cook or hoping for takeaway, and he’d volunteer to come eat what she was cooking so she wouldn’t be stuck with leftovers or offer to pick something up and bring it over. Had she really never invited him? To his surprise, he realized that with the exception of the time they’d read The Grinch together, she hadn’t. So why had he stopped? _When_ had he stopped? _After she chewed me out that day during scene 88, that’s when_. But was it fair to say she’d chewed him out? Now he thought about it, while she had clearly been pissed and definitely gave him a piece of her mind, she’d never actually yelled at him. In fact, she hadn’t even raised her voice. B _ut she barely spoke to me after that, and she was never around anymore to remove my prosthetics, and she didn’t understand how tired I was. Or how drained and empty it all made me, and… No, fuck it. She doesn’t understand. I thought she did, but then things got hard and it turns out she doesn’t. So I’ve got one less friend than I thought. So what._

He tried to put it all out of his mind, but it hurt that she could be so _fickle_ and that made him angry. He didn’t sleep well that night and arrived the next morning already in a foul mood. He approached the makeup trailer with dread at having even to see Maggie, and he paused on the steps to steel himself to enter when he heard her friend Natalie speaking.

“Richard’s always so damn bloody _grouchy_ all the time. I don’t know how you put up with him, Maggs, I really don’t.”

He heard Maggie sigh before replying. “He’s not, though. Not really.”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me. He hasn’t said two words to anyone who hasn’t specifically addressed him in weeks.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Maggie agreed. “But that’s not really _him_. No one who puts as much time and energy into being pissed off like that does so if it happens naturally. But it’s what he needs to be Thorin and once he’s gotten himself into that place, he just stays there, I think, because it’s easier. I don’t think he means to be so cold and aloof.”

“Like I said, I don’t know how you put up with him.”

He could practically _hear_ Maggie shrug. “I just try to do my job and stay out of his way.”

Richard felt like she had kicked him in the stomach and he didn’t want to hear anymore. He cleared his throat and bounded up the remaining two steps and entered the trailer, where the conversation ceased.

“Morning,” Maggie said while Natalie scattered. “Music?”

He shook his head. No, he didn’t want music. He wanted quiet and room to think. _Cold and aloof. Is THAT what I am? I thought I was just treating her the way she treated me, but is it the other way round? Do I really walk around being Thorin all the time? Have I actually made Maggie feel like she has to stay out of my way?_

The longer he thought, the more he realized he knew the answer to each of those questions.

“Oh, you bloody fucking idiot.”

Maggie pulled back from gluing the stupid little nipple inside his ear. “Oh my god, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry,” she said, aghast.

“What? No. No, it wasn’t you. I was…thinking out loud.”

“Oh,” was all she said as she got back to work.

Richard was appalled at himself. Maggie was right – it _was_ easier to stay in his Thorin-space once he’d gotten there. That, combined with the fact that he was never very good at feigning happiness if he was in a bad mood (ironic, considering his profession), meant that he was, as Natalie had described, “so damn bloody grouchy all the time.” And he didn’t know how Maggie put up with him, either.

He watched her then as she worked. He saw the pinched look around her mouth, and the creases that were on permanent display between her brows. He noticed the tension in her body and the way she rolled her shoulders every so often. None of those things had been there the last time he really looked at her. He didn’t flatter himself that he was the only thing that could cause stress in her life, but he knew he had to apologize. Unfortunately, he was needed on set so he’d have to wait until lunchtime. When they broke, he followed her back to the prosthetics trailer. She was sitting in her makeup chair cutting the ends off her braid.

“What are you doing?”

She hadn’t heard him come in and jumped, then rose out of the chair. “What? Oh. Split end maintenance. Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For…? Is something loose? Did one of the nipples shift again?” She laid a hand against his face and turned it so she could look at his ear.

“No, that’s all fine. I’m sorry...” He took a deep breath. “…for being such a colossal prick.”

She froze and frowned. “Um…what?”

“I’ve been an arse and I’m sorry.”

“No, I get the ‘I’m sorry’ bit, but in what way have you been an arse?”

“I’ve been grumpy and distant and…well, bitchy. And it’s not enough to say ‘I’m sorry’ but I am. Very sorry, Maggie.”

Her eyes went wide in surprise. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly.

“Yes, I do. I’ve been surly and sullen and I’ve treated you badly and there’s no excuse for that.”

“You haven’t treated me badly,” she said quietly and turned to tidy her work area. “You’ve done what you had to do and there’s nothing wrong with that. So there’s nothing to apologize for.” She gave him a small smile in the mirror.

“Maggie, I –“

“Hush now, Oakenguilt. You’re playing a moody person who’s under an extreme amount of pressure, and you’re doing it in some less-than-stellar conditions. No one should expect you to be Mr. Sunshine.” The smile was marginally bigger that time. “So no more apologies. You should go eat while there’s still time.”

“But, I –“

She walked over to him and turned him to face the door. “Go. Eat. Richard.”

He knew she’d just keep telling him to leave until he did, so he didn’t protest further. He also knew that she truly felt that he didn’t owe her an apology, but he did, and he needed her to understand. And he needed to make it up to her somehow. On his way to craft services, he had an idea. He hated having assistants do things for him – he’d never quite gotten used to the concept of having “people”, but time was short and he couldn’t leave the studio anyway. He hunted one down and explained what he needed and then finally got something to eat.

It was Natalie who removed his prosthetics that night and Maggie had left by the time he was done in wardrobe, so he drove to her place, but she wasn’t there yet. He had heard her answer that she was going to pick up takeaway when someone asked if she wanted to go out for a drink, so he decided to wait. He was leaning against his car when she pulled up.

“This isn’t another apology, is it?” She smiled, but she looked tired.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “It’s the same apology, actually. And there’s this,” he said and handed her the envelope.

She eyed him warily. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. Open it and find out.”

“Oh, crap, Oakenclaus. You didn’t tell me we were doing Christmas presents!”

“It’s not a Christmas present, it’s an apology present.” _Oakenguilt. Oakenclaus. She hasn’t called me names like that in forever. Why didn’t I notice how much I missed it?_

She handed it back to him. “I’ve told you that you have nothing to apologize for, so there’s no need for an apology present.”

“Maggie, would you take it? Please?”

She sighed and took the envelope and opened it. “A day at a spa? Are you for real? I can’t take this!”

“Why not? Is there some rule against it?”

“No, but this is…well, beyond being totally unnecessary, it’s too much. Well, I assume it is, it doesn’t actually say what it’s for.”

“That’s because it’s for whatever you want. You can go in the morning and stay all day and do whatever you want. Have a massage. Or two. Or get a manicure. Or have a _proper_ haircut. Or do all of the above.”

“Richard, this is silly.”

“No, it isn’t. Look, I’ve been a dick to you and I’m sorry for that and I’m sorry for taking so long to realize it. And I know you think I don’t have to apologize for it, but I do and I want to make it up to you. I know that maybe this isn’t the best way to do that, but then, you shouldn’t be cutting your split ends off on your lunch hour, and you shouldn’t look as tense as you do. So take a day and take care of yourself and relax. Please.”

At first she didn’t know what to say and just looked at him, then she sighed. “Okay, okay. You’re right – I _don’t_ think you need to apologize but you do, so you’re forgiven. But this…” She shook her head. “Friends forgive without presents.”

“Maggie, I want to.”

“And I don’t want you to, so please, take it back.”

“Nope.”

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Richard, this is stupid. It’s far too extravagant for something for which you may or may not even have cause to apologize.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that extravagant, and besides, it’s my money and I can do what I want with it.”

“Richard, I’m not taking this.”

“Maggie, just take it.”

“No,” she held it out for him.

“Dammit, Maggie! Do you have to be so bloody stubborn every second of the day?”

“It’s one of my charms. Now, take this back.”

“Why is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you? Why can’t you ever let me help?” He was yelling and she yelled right back.

“Why is it so bad that I don’t want anything from you? Don’t you have enough people around you who do?”

“And that right there is exactly why I want to do it,” he said, very quietly.

That brought her up short. “I…” She bit her lip as she looked at him. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Good. They open at 10 tomorrow, so you should get there as close to that as you can. Don’t just get one thing, get many things. Hell, get _everything_. Now, go eat before your food gets cold,” he smiled and got in his car. She gave a small wave as he pulled away.

The next night, he was out to dinner with Graham and Jimmy when Graham’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Oh, my.”

“What?” Richard asked. His back was to the door.

Jimmy’s wasn’t and he noticed what Graham had already seen. “Damn. You’ll see it in a minute.”

Richard waited until two women walked by their table on the way to be seated. It was Natalie and Maggie, and… _Holy bloody fucking hell_. Maggie looked fabulous. She was more relaxed than Richard had seen her in weeks. She’d had her makeup done, and her hair… _Oh sweet Jesus, her hair_. She’d had highlights added and several inches taken off and it fell in soft waves to her shoulders. It would likely be right back up tomorrow for work, but until then… He could have whimpered.

Richard saw Natalie leave to use the restroom as he was getting ready to leave, so he walked over to Maggie’s table.

“I’m glad you used it.”

She looked up and smiled. “You might not be when you get the bill.”

“Worth every penny,” he said and smiled back. “You look good – very relaxed.” She lit up then and he was glad – he hated women who wouldn’t take a compliment.

“Thank you. Not just for the compliment, either. It was a very nice day.” _Oh god, when she blushes. Help me._

Richard had been doing a good job of not thinking of her _that_ way for…well, since before scene 88 (he steadfastly refused to acknowledge the fact that he hadn’t consciously been not thinking about her). But now? _Oh god, I am so very fucking screwed._


	9. Happy X-mas (War Is Over)

Richard was as mindful of his demeanor during the last week of filming before Christmas as he could be. Shooting battle scenes was exhausting so he didn’t have the energy to be the life of the party, but he thought that if nothing else, he wasn’t being as surly as he had been. At least, he hoped he wasn’t.

There was a get-together planned for after they wrapped on the last day that he was going to, but first he wanted to say goodbye to Maggie. He knew she booked the earliest flight she thought she’d be able to make (because he had made her show him the confirmation on her phone), so as soon as he’d had his face removed, he rushed to wardrobe to get out of his costume. When he got back to the prosthetics trailer, it was empty, and a search of the parking lot told him he’d missed her completely. _Dammit_. He understood – she hadn’t been home in nearly a year and she really had cut it close with the flight she booked - but he was disappointed. He pulled into an empty spot near the pub and texted her.

 _You didn’t say goodbye_. He hoped that didn’t sound too petulant.

 _No time – was afraid I wouldn’t get through security in time to make the flight. I’m sorry_.

 _A likely story. Travel safe, and let me know when you’re home, please_.

 _Yes, Dad. You could do the same, too, please_.

He had to chuckle at “Dad”. He certainly didn’t feel paternal. _Yes, Mum. :-)_

It was a good night in the pub. Richard was recording a voice over for a New Zealand Tourism commercial the next afternoon but had no pressing need to get up early, so he let himself eat, drink, and be merry. He took a cab home at closing time and fell into bed, and slept all the way through to nine am. It felt…decadent. He wondered how on earth he’d gotten to the point in his life where sleeping in until nine constituted decadence.

Just slightly too hungover for a run, he decided to catch up on emails, then showered, called a cab so he could fetch his car from the pub, and stopped off for an early lunch at a nearby café. He spent the afternoon in a recording studio extoling the virtues of vacationing in New Zealand, before returning home with Italian takeaway and a bottle of pinot noir.

For the first time in nearly a year, Richard didn’t know what to do with himself. There was always plenty of downtime on a movie set, but there were lines to memorize, and scenes to rehearse or visualize, or even the necessity of resting while he had the chance. There was always _something_ to do, and now there wasn’t, and he didn’t know how to deal with that anymore. The flat was too quiet and he was alone and bored. He always had trouble adjusting to the nothingness of not working, even in times like that where it was just a temporary break – in fact, ironically, he’d likely just about get used to having nothing to do right when it was time to go back to work. Had it not been for the voiceover, he’d be on a plane already, but the earliest flight he could get wasn’t until the next afternoon. So until then… He ate, he cleaned out what little there was in the refrigerator, he watched a movie, he watched some telly, he read, and he envied those who were home already. Like Maggie – she should be on the ground now and texting him any minute.

He packed what little he’d be taking with him (he was staying in London for a day or two for shopping and such before heading on to his parents’ and there was plenty of clothing there, so no need for more than a carry-on) and then checked his phone. No text. He read a bit more, but still no text. Figuring the flight had been delayed or he had gotten the flight times wrong, Richard went to bed – after first making sure the alert noise on his phone would be loud enough to wake him. The next sound he heard was his alarm, and still no text.

By his calculations, she should have landed close to twelve hours ago. Even with delays, he’d have expected to hear from her by now. He thought about texting her, but he didn’t want to seem like a worrywart. She had a ton of family in the area, none of whom she’d seen in nearly a year – he couldn’t blame her for not having the presence of mind to text him. She’d said she would, and he’d just have to be patient. In the meantime, there were things to…well, no, there wasn’t really anything to do and that was part of the problem. He had too much time to kill.

He went for a run. No text. He showered. No text. He puttered around. No text. He made his bed (and he never made his bed). No text. He went out for some lunch. No text. He snoozed. Still no text.

Finally, just when he thought he’d go completely mental sitting around for another minute, the cab arrived to take him to the airport. He locked up and left. Of course, checking in and getting through security was just another example of “hurry up and wait”, except now he was biding time in the Air New Zealand lounge.

He pulled out his phone for probably the seven thousandth time, and there was _still_ no text. He turned it off then turned it on again, then sent himself a text to make sure one would get through. It did – almost instantly. _Dammit. She should have landed over eighteen hours ago_. The hell with seeming like a worrywart. He was now officially worried, and his plane was about to board.

 _Where are you? Are you home yet? Why haven’t you texted me?_ As he sent it, he realized it was two am back in the UK. She probably wouldn’t even see th-

_Oh shit, I’m SO sorry! Too excited to be home and never thought. I’m home and in one piece. Forgive me?_

Even as the relief washed over him, the worry turned to irritation. _You scared me to death_.

_I’m sorry. Truly._

He wanted to be mad for worrying when it wasn’t necessary. He wanted not to answer – let her stew for a bit, but he found himself typing reluctantly. _Just glad you’re okay._

_I am. Have a safe flight._

All in all, it could be worse. He could be boarding the plane not knowing if she was okay or not. She could be pissed that he woke her (though the speed of her responses told him she hadn’t been asleep). If she weren’t half the world away and he weren’t about to get on the plane, he’d probably make a bigger fuss. But… _Thanks, May-reed._

_:-)_

He boarded, thankful for the relief of knowing Maggie was safe. Long flights were unbearable enough without worrying about something he couldn’t do anything about on top of it. As it was, he was able to settle in and make the best of it, and he lucked out in that there were no delays and he landed at Heathrow more or less on schedule the next afternoon. And just to rub her nose in it a bit, Richard texted Maggie as soon as he’d gotten through customs.

_SOME people can remember they said they’d text when they got home. I’m home, by the way, and I’VE remembered to text._

_Yeah, yeah. Good to know, but how long do you plan to dine out on this?_

He grinned as he typed his response. _As long as I want._

Cheered at the thought of being able to play the “you made me worry” card (judiciously, as needed) and happy to be back on English soil, Richard headed home. The housesitter had obviously aired it out before leaving, so the air wasn’t too stagnant. There was nothing more depressing than a quiet, empty, stuffy flat – unless it was an empty refrigerator, which is what he currently had. Takeaway again. He couldn’t wait to get home to real meals cooked by his Mum. Maybe he could try to get all his errands done early so he could get to his parents’ sooner?

By dint of some frenzied running around, he managed to do just that. His last stop was at Waterstones for a gift card for his sister-in-law. As he was waiting in line, he saw a copy of “The Giving Tree”. He remembered reading that to his nephew when he was younger and as he recalled, it was a favorite. Maybe Maggie’s niece would like it? On impulse, he bought it. It was short enough that he could record it fairly quickly, then burn a copy to CD and send it with the book, which is exactly what he did when he got home. He even managed to find an old roll of some ugly Christmas paper his last girlfriend had left behind to wrap it in, and he dropped it in the post on his way to the train station. A few hours later, he was walking through the front door and his Mum was showering him with hugs and kisses as if she hadn’t seen him in decades.

 _Ah, Christmas at home._ It was nice to know that no matter what changes occurred in his life, there were still some constants of the universe. _Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose_ – and he was thankful. Christmas at home meant too much food, too much wine, too many of his Dad’s ridiculous stories, too much of his Mum worrying he wasn’t eating enough or sleeping enough, family game nights, juvenile competitions with his brother that went back to childhood (Richard still swore that Chris cheated at every card game they’d ever played, he could just never prove it), a night of darts down the pub with some old mates, arguments over what movie they should watch (Mum won – she always did), impromptu footie matches in the backyard that Richard always let his nephew win, and hot chocolate every night before bed. It was peaceful, it was joyful, and most and best of all, it was _normal_. Richard loved every minute.

A few days after Christmas, he got a video text from Maggie. He opened it and saw an adorable ginger child dressed in a rugby shirt and a pink tutu standing in front of a Christmas tree and holding the book he’d sent.

 _Hi, Mister Richard! I’m Lizzie!_ (She twirled in place and he could hear a woman he thought was probably Maggie laugh – L _adybug, hold still while ye talk or Mister Richard willnae be able to understand ye.) Oops! Sorry! I wanted tae say thank ye very much for sending me this wonderful book an’ readin’ it tae me. I’ve listened tae it three times already! An’ I followed along an’ I know all the words. My Mam an’ Da listened tae it, too an’ my Mam says yer voice is very sexy an’ that made my Da roll his eyes but he does that all the time tae my Mam so ye can just ignore that. But anyway, thank ye very much for thinking of me an’ happy Christmas I hope ye got lots of wonderful things! I’m going to draw ye a picture an’ give it tae Auntie tae give tae ye when ye go back tae Middle Earth! Bye!_

The video ended with her blowing him a kiss and then making a perfect “cut” sign. Richard couldn’t help smiling. That was even better than the thank you note she’d written him when he’d helped Maggie read the Grinch (which he still had on his refrigerator in Wellington). He also couldn’t help smiling at the mental picture he now had of what Maggie must have looked like as a child, because he had no trouble imagining her just like Lizzie. It was easy to see why Maggie was so head-over-ears about her – it only took the length of that video for him to feel the same way.

It had been an all-around delightful Christmas full of family and friends, and it was over all too soon. It seemed like the minute the clock struck twelve on New Year’s (during which Richard concentrated very hard on NOT wondering how Maggie was spending it), it was time to get ready to leave. He was eager to get back to work, but not in such a hurry to leave home. He consoled himself with the thought that he might just have a nice new piece of hand-drawn artwork to hang on his refrigerator when he got back to Middle-Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose - "the more it changes, the more it's the same thing".


	10. Welcome back to Middle-Earth

Richard’s trip back to New Zealand wasn’t as problem-free as his trip home was, and he landed in Wellington six hours later than he should have. As he was opening all the windows to air his place out, he wondered when Maggie would be back. He’d meant to ask, but it had slipped his mind in the last few frenzied days of filming. Making sure she really was going home had been the priority and he’d not given much thought to anything else. That he didn’t wonder who else may or may not be back didn’t even signify, nor did the fact that texting her was the second thing he did immediately upon returning.

_Are you back yet? If not, when will you be?_

_Happy New Year to you, too. I’ve been here for days, Oakenslacker. ;-)_ That was a surprise. He figured she’d stay home as long as she possibly could.

_Oh. Dinner?_

_Coq au vin will be ready at 6._

_You are the absolute best._

_Hardly._

_We can argue the point later, May-reed._

He’d been planning to offer to pick up her choice of takeaway, but home cooking was even better. Not that he hadn’t eaten more than his fair share of his Mum’s cooking while he was home in England, but he’d spend most days eating whatever he could grab once shooting started up again, so he’d take all the “real” food he could get when he could get it. He really ought to think about cooking for Maggie one of these days, though. It was probably only fair.

Richard arrived at her place a few minutes shy of six, and waved to the landlady, Mrs. Wallace, on his way up the steps to Maggie’s flat.

“It’s open,” she yelled in response to his knock.

He walked into her kitchen and her only greeting was to hand him a glass of wine. Whatever welcome he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it and he was mildly disappointed. Surely a hug wouldn’t have gone amiss? Still, she’d been pouring him a glass of wine at the exact moment he arrived.

He frowned. “Am I _that_ predictable?”

“You’re very prompt when food is involved, yes. Come through – I have something for you, and if Lizzie were to find out you were here any longer than thirty seconds without me giving it to you, my life would not be worth living.” Maggie led the way into the sitting room where she presented him with Lizzie’s picture. “Et voila, the other part of the thank you. It was much, _much_ too important to trust to the post and absolutely _had_ to be hand-delivered.”

“That video was perfect - so bloody cute,” he said as he took the picture. “But who was the woman speaking on it? Was that Morag?”

“No, that was me.”

He frowned. “You? It didn’t sound like you. It sounded too…Scottish.”

“Hey!” she shouted, with mock outrage.

“No, I didn’t mean-“

“Och, I ken what ye meant. I got tired o’Sassenachs like you always complainin’ ye cannae unnerstan’ me, so I tone it down when I’m awa’ frae hame,” she said with a wink.

Richard grinned, but there was something a bit sad about that, he thought. “Ah unnerstood e’erything ye jist said, an’ Ah ken well that ‘Sassenach’ isnae a nice thing tae call someone.”

Maggie laughed. “That was fairly well done. Top marks. Now, would you please look at your picture so I can honestly report to Lizzie that I gave it to you IMMEDIATELY upon your return?”

He turned his attention to the picture. “Well, that’s obviously her. Is she…is that a stereo? She’s listening to the CD?”

Maggie nodded and pointed. “And reading along.”

“And that’s me…with Gisborne hair?”

“Yep. Morag wanted her to draw season three hair, but Lizzie prefers season one.”

Richard laughed. “And what am I doing? Oh, I’m reading. Right. But what’s this above my head?”

“Some king you are – don’t even recognize your own mountain. That’s Erebor. _Obviously_. You’re _under_ it. Get it?”

“That’s…wow. That’s bloody brilliant. She knows the story? You’ve read it to her?”

Maggie shook her head. “Not yet. She knows the story, but she didn’t have the attention span for even half a chapter until recently, and I knew I wouldn’t be home long enough to finish so we didn’t start. Hamish said he’d read it to her, but she told him since he hadn’t been to Middle-Earth, he wasn’t properly qualified.”

Richard laughed again. “You were just like her at that age, weren’t you?”

“Oh no. I was _way_ more obnoxious and not even half as cute.” Richard didn’t believe that for a second. “My brothers can attest to that,” she said in answer to his dubious look. “I, um, I have something for you, too, actually. It’s, um, nothing too wonderful, but…” She handed him a gift bag. “It’s just a wee thank you for thinking of Lizzie. It seemed like a better idea when I first thought of it…”

He pulled a framed picture out of the bag. “Is this…Ruapehu? From the _top_ of one of the ski areas?” She nodded. “You said you didn’t ski!”

“Oh, I most definitely don’t. I tried it once and it was decided for the sake of the entire planet that I never do it again. But most of the skiers I’ve known…well, you’re always so focused on the run itself that most of you don’t take the time to enjoy the view. I thought maybe, you know, a keepsake…”

He was gobsmacked. “But it’s not winter. How did you…? _When_ did you…?”

“Three days ago,” she laughed. “You’ll notice the distinct lack of snow. Or skiable snow, anyway. Obviously, it would have been better had I had this idea during the winter, but… Hey, I could maybe get one of the graphics people to put snow in the picture…”

“Don’t you dare! This is perfect the way it is, but how in the hell did you manage it?”

“I hiked,” she said, as if hiking to the top of a mountain to take a picture was the most everyday thing in the world. “Hey, I come from good Highland stock. We’re born hikers. And besides, they run the lifts in the summer for hikers who want to see the crater, so I didn’t even have to do the whole mountain. I was even willing to bribe my way into the ski area – I had a hundred poun…sorry, _dollars_ in my pocket for that very purpose, but the caretaker was cute and we flirted and it ended up only costing me my phone number.” She grinned, obviously pleased with herself.

Richard was very much less so. “You gave the guy your phone number?” He did not like the sound of that. Not one bit. He wasn’t sure what was worse – that the wanker had asked, or that she’d actually given it to him.

“Like I said, he was cute,” she said with a shrug.

“What do you even know about this guy, Maggie? What if he’s a psychopath?” She laughed.

“What do I know about any guy I’d give my number to? What if I met him in a bar or at the market or at a red light? I gave him my mobile number, not my address. If he wants to stalk me, he’d have to be pretty dedicated to do it.”

_She gives her number to men she meets in bars and markets and traffic jams? What the actual fuck?_ “Still…”

“Oh relax, Oakendad. He hasn’t called and we go back to work in two days and there won’t be any time once we do, anyway,” she said as she got up from the couch. “The food’s ready. I’ll bring it out.”

He felt like a complete arse. She was obviously disappointed that this guy hadn’t called. And what was it to him, anyway? _What? I can’t have her so no one can? Shouldn’t I want a friend to be happy?_ He walked into the kitchen where she was ladling the coq au vin into a soup plate, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. I didn’t say thank you,” he said gently.

She shrugged without looking at him and gave a small laugh. “You just did.”

_Oh god, the pain in her voice_. He wanted to make that pain go away. He wanted to make her forget Ski Guy’s name. He wanted to make her forget her _own_ name. His hand moved, seemingly on its own, to her chin and he turned her to face him.

_Fuck_.

Maggie touched him for hours on end every day during filming, but it was still a rare thing when he would touch her and when he did it was…

“Thank you, Maggie,” he said quietly and hoped his voice didn’t shake. “The picture is beautiful.”

_God, I want to kiss her. I want to pull that stupid clip off of her head and let her hair down and really kiss her. I want to back her into the refrigerator and kiss her until she begs me for air before begging for more. And then I want to carry her into the bedroom and lay her down and touch her and taste her and fuck her until neither of us can move and the ONLY name she remembers is MINE._

_But I can’t because she doesn’t date actors._

_And I don’t screw around with people I work with._

Maggie turned back to the stove with a shaky laugh. “You’re welcome. I probably should have just gotten a frame for Lizzie’s picture instead, though. Here,” she handed him the plate without looking at him. “There’s crusty bread on the counter and butter in the crock.”

He took the food and moved to the counter on legs that shook and with fingers still tingling from where he’d touched her. _Get a grip, you stupid horny twat._

“Maggie, I love the Ruapehu picture and I’m glad you didn’t frame Lizzie’s because I decided when she said she was drawing one that it was going on my refrigerator with her thank you note. I probably will frame it eventually, though.” _That’s better. Talk about a six-year-old’s artwork_.

“What? Richard, I was kidding,” she said, laughing.

“I wasn’t. It’s sweet. When a little kid does something like that on their own, you know they’re really grateful. This was obviously a big deal to her, and it should be a big deal to me, too.”

She smiled as she buttered a piece of bread. “Well, she doesn’t draw her pictures for just _anyone_ , it’s true. But then, she does plan to marry you, so I guess seeing as you’re more or less engaged, you’re worthy of artwork.”

“Excuse…me?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, you’re her hero. She loves a good story more than anything else in life, and you read to her without even being asked and you’ve never even met. What little girl _wouldn’t_ fall in love with that?” They carried their food to the sitting room and took their places, a safe distance from each other on opposite ends of the couch. “I’m not sure whether she’d prefer the Gisborne wedding kit or Harry Kennedy’s, though. She was waffling on that point when I left. Morag, of course, is having a difficult time with all of this. She’d been rather picturing you as a future step-father for Lizzie and she’s not adjusting so well to the news that you’ll be her son-in-law.”

Richard laughed.“God, your brother must want to _kill_ me.”

“He thinks it’s all pretty hysterical, actually. Did you ever know two people who are just so disgustingly _meant_ to be together? That’s Morag and Hamish,” she said when he nodded. “So there’s a whole lot of room for ridiculousness between them, you know, because no matter what either of them says, they’ll always be together and they both know it. Though I daresay he’s got to be at least a _little_ disappointed at losing out on Scarlett Johansson,” she added with a giggle.

“I think I really want to meet these people…though I’d like it to be without anyone authorized to perform a wedding ceremony within a fifty kilometer radius just to be safe. With my luck, I wouldn’t even end up with your sister-in-law or your niece. I’d end up married to your brother.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh god! What a lovely couple you’d make, too!”

They ate and thankfully, it felt to Richard that normality had been restored. They shared stories of their trips home – Richard making Maggie laugh as he recounted how his father had almost set his cuffs on fire when he’d lit the Christmas pudding, and Maggie describing the ugly sweaters her mum had knitted for the twins.

“So,” he said as he finished eating. “Any chance there’s some of that dark chocolate ice cream in your freezer?” He gave her his very best puppy dog look.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Hello! Have we met?” She took their empty dishes to the kitchen and came back with two generous portions of ice cream. “Now that I’ve fed you and am plying you with chocolate, there’s something I wanted to say.”

He looked at her over his spoon. “Sounds serious.”

“It is, a bit,” she said after a bite of ice cream. “The last…month or so of shooting…I think maybe I did take everything personally, and that was wrong and unprofessional of me and I…I don’t know. I think I was more homesick than I even realized and it skewed my reactions. That may be a reason, but it’s no excuse, and I’m sorry. I – “

“Maggie, you don’t have t-“

“No, hush. Let me finish, please. I haven’t even gotten to my point yet. I’ve read the book, more than once, so I know what’s coming and unless Peter is going to take some giant steps away from Tolkien…well, your job’s only going to get harder as time goes on. It’s inevitable. Your job is to be Thorin – and you’re doing it in a way that’s infinitely more detailed and layered than the original. My job is to help you look the part and then get the fuck out of your way and let you get on with it. So if what you need is to get into Thorin’s head and stay there, then you do that and don’t worry abou- …I don’t think you’re losing any sleep over me, but…well, you won’t owe me any apologies afterward. Or spa days – which was pretty much pearls before swine, anyway,” she added with a laugh. “What I’m saying is I know it’s not you. You’re not surly or aloof or any of those other adjectives I used to describe you to Morag – which she no longer believes, by the way. You’re not even as moody as you like to tell people you are. You’re a guy who reads to wee girls and who arranges a spa day for someone because you think you’ve been mean. I’m just saying do your job and there will still be dark chocolate ice cream in my freezer when and if you want it and I’ll not hold it against you if you don’t.”

All he could do was stare. He had family and life-long friends who didn’t understand his single-mindedness when working (and more than one relationship had ended because of it) and here she was…

“And…you can speak now. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you did because I’m feeling a bit stupid,” she added and then buried her nose in her ice cream.

Richard still didn’t say anything right away, because he honestly didn’t know _what_ to say. How could he explain what it meant to him for someone to understand? It wasn’t that he liked being a crotchety arse. It was just what he had to do. He’d always wished he could be one of those actors who could turn it all on when the cameras rolled and back off when they stopped, but that wasn’t him. It never had been.

“I…it’s…thank you. I’m…god, I’m rubbish with words sometimes when no one’s written them for me,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “Sometimes it’s nice knowing someone understands you even when you don’t yourself, you know?” He wanted to explain better, but he couldn’t. It was lame and far too understated, but it was all he had. “I promise to try not to worry about it if you promise me one thing.”

“That depends,” she warily replied.

“Promise me that if I get _too_ insufferable, you’ll kick my arse.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “I think you’d better define the parameters of what constitutes “too insufferable” because I might abuse the privilege and like it.”

Richard laughed with the relief of having lightened the mood. Everything had suddenly gotten too overwhelming there for a minute. Again.

“I trust you so let’s just wing it. Besides, for all you know, I might like it, too,” he said with a naughty grin. He knew she wouldn’t take the bait, but he couldn’t help trying. Sitting there feeling sexually frustrated was better than sitting there feeling so much he thought he’d explode.

Maggie feigned shock. “Now, now, Oakennephew. Is that any way to talk to your future Auntie?”

He almost choked on his ice cream because his mind had just veered even deeper into the gutter. “Of all the things I could call you, May-reed, I can promise you that “Auntie” will never be one of them,” he said with utmost sincerity.

She heaved a dramatic sigh. “No respect.”

“Yeah well, that’s family for you. I’ll help with the dishes, though.”

“No, you won’t. Not this time, I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure? Because I d- Right. You’ve got it,” he said in response to the look she gave him. “I should probably go, then. I need to try to get myself back to a New Zealand schedule.” He picked up his pictures. “Thank you for these. What do I owe you for the delivery fee on Lizzie’s?”

She waved him off as she walked him to the door. “It’s free. We’re practically family, after all.”

He laughed. “Right. ‘Night, May-reed.”

“’Night, Armitazh,” she said with a smile.

Richard sat in his car for a few minutes before starting it up. He’d hated to eat and run like that, but there had just been too many demands made on his jet-lagged body and mind in too short a time. Had Maggie not turned away when she did, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have kissed her because he simply didn’t have the control not to. He knew he’d often wonder what would have happened if he had, but the risk of ruining a perfectly good working relationship, and worse, a friendship was just too great. And a friendship with someone who could so casually demonstrate that she understood him and how he worked was not to be thrown away just because his dick took over his brain.

With a sigh, he finally drove home and when he got there, he put Lizzie’s picture on his fridge next to her thank you note. He took a picture of it and texted it to Maggie.

_Send this on to Lizzie for me? It’s not much of an engagement present, but it’ll have to do for now._

_Will do. Her favorite colour is pink if you’re thinking about gemstones._

_I’ll bear that in mind._

Richard grinned wryly as he headed for his bedroom. _Her niece wants to marry me and her sister-in-law wants to fuck me. The only Drummond woman who doesn’t want something from me is the one that I wish did._ He thought about the Ski Guy with Maggie’s number as he geared down for bed and wondered what the fuck was wrong with the tosser. He was mad at Ski Guy for not calling and he was mad at Maggie for wanting him to and he was mad at himself for being mad. His last thought before the oblivion of sleep took him was that Mairead Drummond was quite likely going to be the death of him.


	11. I'm not as think as you drunk I am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard gets a surprise...and then gets hammered.

It didn’t take long for Richard to wonder if he was wrong about his potential cause of death – that it wouldn’t be Maggie after all, but Thorin. When shooting started up again, there was no gentle easing in to get re-acclimated – it was more like jumping in with both feet with weights in your pockets and you couldn’t see the bottom. As Maggie predicted (and he already knew), the job did indeed get harder, and it didn’t take long for it to start affecting him.

Richard did his best not to let it drag him down too far, and if nothing else, he thought he wasn’t quite so surly as he’d been before the Christmas break. Maggie hadn’t kicked his arse yet, anyway. There were lighter moments here and there, and he religiously kept up with Sunday morning breakfasts with the lads and Sunday night dinners with her, but with each day that went on, he felt the weight on Thorin’s shoulders and just as isolated. And that was just the mental toll – the physical was nearly as bad.

The upside to all of it (if there was one) was that with all his mental and physical energy focused on being Thorin and not allowing that to consume him, he didn’t have enough left to get worked up about Maggie. Even when they were together on Sunday nights, dinners were quiet (but it was a comfortable silence, he thought, not a strained one) with a movie after if he thought he could stay awake or not when he didn’t. And she didn’t mention Ski Guy again.

He wished she had, though, because then he might have had some warning before he saw them out together one Saturday night.

After a particularly difficult week, Richard had agreed to go out for dinner with Graham. They decided on seafood and went to a restaurant on the water where they were given a table near the back. It was a nice enough night, Richard figured getting out would do him some good, and he was hungry…until he saw Maggie. She passed by their table after coming out of the restroom and she didn’t see him. She looked… _God damn_. She looked like a woman on a date: heels that made her legs look fantastic, short flowy skirt that hit her mid-thigh, sleeveless top that showed just the right amount of cleavage, jewelry, makeup, and her hair down. She looked incredible.

“Huh. I didn’t realize they’d come here,” Graham said when he saw her.

 _Wait...what?_ “They?” Richard asked as she got back to her table. She sat with her back to him and he could see her companion – blond, fit, decent-looking, well-dressed. No doubt about it, Maggie was on a date.

“Don’t know the lad’s name, but they met when she got back to Wellington just after New Year’s, but he didn’t actually ask her out until last week – on Valentine’s Day, no less, which takes a rather particular set of balls, I’m thinking.”

“How the hell do you know all this?”

Graham snorted. “How the hell _don’t_ you? I heard it from her friend Natalie.” _Oh of course – Graham the Gossip King_. “Maggie didn’t mention it? Really?”

Richard shook his head. No, she didn’t mention it. He’d definitely have remembered if she had. She hadn’t said one word about Ski Guy – which, from Graham’s description was who this guy _had_ to be – since the night she’d told him she’d given him her number. She’d seemed pretty convinced that she wouldn’t be hearing from him, and Richard had stupidly assumed she was right.

“…seems pretty keen.”

“Huh?” Graham had been talking, but Richard hadn’t been listening.

“I said he certainly seems pretty keen.”

He was right. Ski Guy seemed _very_ keen – leaning toward her, attention fully fixed on her, smiling. Richard wanted to puke. Maybe if the guy had been ugly… But no, he wasn’t. In fact, he had to admit they’d look good together. But ringing her up _on Valentine’s Day_ to ask her out? Who the hell does that?

“Yeah, he does,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could then studiously perused the menu.

Damn, but it bothered him. It shouldn’t and he knew it. He had no claim on her, and why shouldn’t she date? But did she have to fucking do it in front of him? Okay, he knew they were there first and she had no way of knowing he and Graham would be there, too, and he was being petty and stupid and… _jealous, god damn it. Fuck!_

He would pretend it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t look at them. In fact, he shifted his chair so he didn’t have such a good view. He would order and he would eat and he would pretend they weren’t even there.

It didn’t take long until he didn’t have to pretend.

Maggie and Ski Guy were leaving. It was early and they were already leaving. Despite his vow to himself not to look, he did and what he saw turned his stomach. She was laughing and Ski Guy had his hand on the small of her back as they left and the smile he gave her as he opened the door for her… _Bloody fucking hell_. It was early enough that they _could_ have been going off to see a film or something, but somehow, he doubted it.

He had a very hard time eating after that. If Graham noticed, and Richard suspected he did, he was kind enough not to mention it - which spoke volumes for someone who loved gossip the way Graham did. He tried to keep up his end of the conversation, and he tried not to look visibly relieved when they finished their meal and Graham said he had to get going because he had a Skype date with his daughter.

Richard really should have gone home at that point. He knew that he should. But his place was too empty and quiet and lonely and if he went home then he’d just spend the rest of the night thinking about…things he shouldn’t be thinking about. So he called Aidan and Dean.

Twenty minutes later, they were in a bar. Twenty minutes after that, Richard had a decent buzz going. Twenty minutes after _that_ , he was considering finding someone to go home with.

That he’d have his pick was rather immediately obvious. That he wouldn’t take any of them up on it…well, it would be a disaster and he knew it, but it made him feel better to know he _could_ if he wanted to. Not that _she’d_ care if he happened to mention it later, but somehow, in his increasingly alcohol-addled brain, it made a difference.

Somewhere around midnight, Dean started ordering shots. At closing time, the three of them stumbled into a cab that dropped off Dean first, then Aidan, and then Richard. He handed the cabbie a bunch of bills and got out onto the sidewalk…at Maggie’s?

What the…? Was this the address he’d given? He didn’t remember that. He turned to ask the cabbie, but he’d already driven away. _Oh god, what do I do now? Where do I go? I can’t… What if she’s…? If they’re…? I’ll go knock on Mrs. Wallace’s d -… No, shit. It’s like two-thirty in the morning. I can’t… Dammit, there aren’t any cabs in this stupid neighborhood. And I think I just gave that guy all my cash. Oh, what the fuck? Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I have to go knock on Maggie’s door. Oh shit, she’ll kill me. And Ski Guy. Oh fuck, he’s probably still there and they’re… Oh fuck_. He looked around and tried to focus on the cars parked near the house. There weren’t any that looked like they’d belong to a Ski Guy, but what the hell would a Ski Guy drive? He was afraid if he stood there any longer someone would see him and call the cops and that’s all he needed to be arrested for vagrancy outside the makeup girl’s house while she was in there with her boyfriend and they’d think he was stalking her and his publicists would have a coronary and… _oh shit. Is this what a panic attack feels like?_

He only had one choice. He had to go knock on Maggie’s door.

_I am sorry, Maggie. I will buy you a whole entire goddamn spa to say I’m sorry. I will read your niece an entire library to say I’m sorry. I will sleep with Morag and I will find Scarlett Johansson for Hamish and I’ll buy all of Ruapehu and give it to Ski Guy and I’ll…_

“Richard? What the hell?”

She looked rumpled and sleepy and beautiful and she had on a robe that clung to her in all the best places and…

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. But I don- I’m here and I know I shouldn’t be and I swear I don’t know how it happened and I’m really sorry and… _is he here?_ ” He added in a whisper.

“Oh wow, are you drunk. Is _who_ here?”

He rolled his eyes. “ _You know, Ski Guy_.” Still whispering so Ski Guy wouldn’t hear him. He really didn’t want to have to buy Ruapehu.

“’Ski Guy’? How did you…?”

He put his hands on her shoulders so he could impart the importance of his next statement. “Graham and I were at the same restaurant tonight.”

“Oh… Um, no. His name is Troy, by the way, but he’s not here. Why don’t you come in?” She stood aside so he could.

“Oh, he’s not?” He asked as he stumbled through the doorway. “But…but he _liked_ you.”

She took his arm to steady him – like he needed her to – and guided him through the kitchen into the sitting room. “Yeah, well. I didn’t like _him_ , so… Come on, let’s get you sat down and I’ll get you some water.” She got him onto the couch and then fetched him a bottle from the kitchen. “Here you go. Get this down you or you’ll have one hell of a headache tomorrow.”

“You didn’t?”

“I didn’t what?”

“Like him. You didn’t like him.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t,” she said as she sat on the coffee table facing him. “Now come on, drink up.” She waited while he downed half the bottle. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re so completely blootered?”

He laughed. “I like the way you talk. I’m… _blootered_ … because I’ve been drinking.”

“Uh huh,” she said as she gently pushed the water bottle toward his lips so he’d have to drink. “Much more than usual it would seem. Is there a reason why?”

“Because,” he muttered. He didn’t want to answer her, but she just sat there looking at him, _waiting_ like she knew there was a reason and… “Because Dean ordered shots…and because…I can’t…do…this anymore.”

She frowned. “Do what, exactly?”

He thought for a moment because he couldn’t remember. “I can’t…be Thorin anymore.” Yeah, that was it.

“What do you mean you can’t be Thorin anymore?”

“It’s _hard_ , Maggs. He’s sad and he’s _angry_ all the time and everything hurts. And, you know, maybe he wanted a _family_ and a _life_ and he’s never going to get to have that EVER and he _knows_ it. He’s always known it. And he _knows_ he’s going to die. Seriously. Maggie, he _knows_. Do you know what that’s like? Knowing you have no choice and you _have_ to do something and it’s going to _kill_ you?”

“No,” she said, quietly. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either. But I do. And it’s… God, Maggie. I’m tired of being pissed off. And I’m tired of being tired. And I don’t want to be Thorin anymore. Bathroom.”

“What?”

“Bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom. I’ve been drinking so I need to go to the bathroom.” _Man, is she dense tonight._

“Well, you’re on your own there, pal. I’m not helping.”

“Pft,” he said as he stood. “I don’t _need_ your help.”

He made his way to the bathroom and did his business and came back out to see Maggie putting a pillow and blankets on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“Making up the couch. What are _you_ doing?”

“Trying…to get…my phone…out…of my back…pocket.” It was stuck.

“Richard. Richard, stop. STOP! I’ll get it,” she said as she reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone and he snickered. _She touched my bum_. “Here. Who are you calling at this hour?”

“Cab.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here. Look, I’ve got the couch all made up,” she said as she took his phone out of his hand and laid it on the coffee table.

“I don’t wanna sleep on your couch, Maggs.”

“Well, that’s good because you’re not going to. I am.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t fit, you twit. You get my bed.”

He snickered again. “You rhymed,” he said as she led him into her bedroom. “Maggie, this is your bedroom.”

She laughed then. “Very good, Richard. You’re right.”

“Maggie, I can’t. I can’t be in your bedroom.”

“Richard, listen to me. You’re here because you are in no shape to go home and you won’t fit on my couch, so you’re going to sleep in my bed, okay? Now sit so we can get your shoes off.” He sat and allowed her to take off his shoes. “Good lad, now lie down,” she said and covered him when he complied. She fetched a garbage bin and put it by the edge of the bed. “Just in case, okay? Please don’t puke in my bed.”

“Won’t.” _As if_. “Maggie? Will you sit with me?”

She sighed. “For a few minutes,” she answered and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t want to be Thorin anymore.”

“I know. And you don’t have to be Thorin tonight.” She smiled down at him and stroked his hair. “You can just be Richard. Hush now and go to sleep,” she said softly.

_Mmmm…that hand feels good. It would feel better other places, but it feels so good in my hair. I like her bed. It’s soft and it smells good. She’s soft and smells good too…_

“Maggie?”

“Yes, Richard?”

“Troy is a stupid name.”

She chuckled. “Go to sleep, Oakendrunk.”

After a few more strokes of his hair, he did.


	12. By the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty NSFW - probably best not to read in public.

Richard knew he wasn’t in his own bed before he could even coax his eyes open, and he had a moment of panic that the first thing he saw would be something he definitely did not want to see.

The first thing he saw was Maggie’s bra.

It was in the corner, lying on the pile of clothes she had worn last night. _Maggie’s. I’m at Maggie’s. I showed up here last night and she put me in her bed because I wouldn’t fit on the couch._ He was fully dressed so he knew nothing had happened – unless, of course, he’d said or done something he shouldn’t. There were moments he couldn’t fully account for, and he just prayed it was because of the brain cells he’d killed and not because he was blocking an ugly memory. But he remembered her laughing as she combed her fingers through his hair. Surely she’d not have done that if she were mad at him? _Those fingers had felt so good…_ No - best not to think about that unless he wanted to deal with morning wood. Unfortunately, his eyes landed on the bra again. _Black. Lacy. The bra of a woman willing for it to be seen._ He wondered if her panties had mat - … _Again, no_. He turned his face away which brought it into contact with her pillow…which smelled like her.

Dammit. Her entire bedroom was a minefield destined to make him hard. Or was it his own head that was destined to do make that happen? He moved to get out of bed and felt something hard under the pillow. Investigating further, Richard found a cheap romance novel. _Maggie? Reading BODICE RIPPERS? Goes with the chick flicks, I guess._ He put the book back where he found it and got out of bed and went to the window. The light was far too bright. _Ugh._

He checked his watch: almost 10. Maggie must have been up for hours already. Much though part of him wanted to hide in her room all day, he knew he had to face the music sometime. _Please god, don’t let me have done anything I can’t apologize for._ As he laid a hand on the doorknob to open it, he could hear Maggie talking in the sitting room. He cracked the door open a bit and listened, thinking maybe he could gauge her mood if he did.

“…in about five months.”

“How long is that?” Lizzie. She must be Skyping Lizzie.

“Not quite half a year.”

“How many sleeps?”

“Och, it’s not time yet tae start counting sleeps, ladybug. If we did, it would be too big a number and it would seem too far away. I’ll be hame when it’s summer an’ ye’re up to yer ears in iced lollies an’ covered in midge bites.”

Lizzie giggled, but then turned serious. “Will ye go awa’ again?”

“Well, yes, for work I’ll have tae. But I dinna think it will ever be for as long an’ never as far.”

“Da says ye cannae go any farther. He says if ye did, ye’d be coming back again.”

Maggie laughed. “He’s right. I’m almost exactly halfway ‘round the world. Did he show ye on his globe that Gran got him for Christmas?”

“Yes. It’s verra far. What time is it there?”

“Ten in the morning.”

“Next time ye go awa’, can it be some place where we can see the moon at the same time? It’s night here an’ I can see it now, but ye cannae.”

“Aye, an’ it’s daytime here an’ the sun is out. Are ye thinkin’ about the moon song? Do ye want to sing it anyway?”

“No, Auntie. It wouldnae be right if we cannae both actually see it. Mam says I have tae go tae bed now, anyway.”

“Yes, stinker. Ye’ve already gotten an extra half hour out of this,” Maggie said with a chuckle.

“I miss ye, Auntie.”

“I miss ye more, ladybug. Night night. Have happy dreams.”

Richard watched as Maggie closed her computer and shifted it off her lap. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clearly trying to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over. He waited until she’d picked up her coffee cup and had a sip before walking out of the bedroom.

Her smile was instant. “Well, hello there, sunshine. How are we feeling this morning?”

“Depends on what I may have said or done last night, I think,” he answered sheepishly as he sat in the chair. Absurdly, until he knew where he stood he didn’t feel right sitting on the couch. Besides, she was in his spot.

“Here.” She picked up a bottle of Powerade and tossed it to him. “So you don’t remember?”

“There are some gaps,” he said as he drank.

“So did you mean it when you said you wanted to have my babies?”

He choked so hard he almost spit. “WHAT?”

Maggie was laughing. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Your face!”

“Liar. You’re not sorry at all,” he accused as his heart beat erratically.

“No, you’re right. It’s my consolation prize for having to deal with your drunk arse waking me at two-thirty in the morning.”

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Well, I had a look around when I went for a run and your car’s not anywhere in the vicinity, so thank goodness for that.”

“No, I didn’t drive. Graham did when we went for dinner and then when he went home I met Dean and Aidan at a bar and then we took a cab. I just meant that I don’t remember giving this address. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were so drunk it probably was a good thing there was someone around to keep an eye on you. And stop worrying – you honestly didn’t say or do anything you shouldn’t have. You were a perfect gentleman. Giggly and a little silly, more than a little angsty, but a gentleman.”

_Thank god for that._ “I don’t giggle.”

“When you’re blind drunk you do,” she said with a smirk.

“Oh shit, I’m missing breakfast.”

“Um…no, you’re actually not. I, um…I’m sorry. I know this is a terrible violation of privacy, but you left your phone out here last night and it buzzed this morning and when I saw it was a text from Martin, I figured it was about your breakfast.” She cringed. “I texted him back and said you were feeling a bit under the weather and would be giving it a miss this week. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but you were still so asleep at that point and I didn’t want to wake you. I swear I didn’t poke around in your phone or anything. That one text was all I did.”

“It’s okay, Maggs. I trust you. And thanks – I really don’t feel up to breakfast with the boys this week.”

“No, I guess not. Now that you’ve rehydrated, why don’t you get yourself some coffee while I fix us a fry-up?”

“You don’t have t-“

“Please. I come from a hard-drinking people. We know how to handle the morning after. Besides, you need to fortify yourself because afterward, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Um, what?”

“We’re going on a wee field trip,” she said as she got up. “I think you need to get out of your head for a bit, and I know a perfect spot to do that.”

He followed her to the kitchen. “Um, I should probably go home and get a shower first.”

She smiled as she started gathering what she’d need to make breakfast. “You don’t need a shower for where we’re going.”

“Should I be scared?”

She laughed and handed him a coffee mug. “Didn’t you just say something about trusting me? Go, sit. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

He got his coffee and took it back out to the sitting room, and since it didn’t seem he was in the doghouse, he sat in his spot. His spot. Bit presumptuous, that, but it’s how he felt. Not long after, Maggie came out with two plates with a full fry-up: eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, and toast. Richard wasn’t sure his stomach was up to it.

“Um, I don’t know if I can – “

“Just start with some of the toast, then work your way through the grease, then more toast. Trust me.”

He had his doubts, but figured he’d give it a try anyway. It was a bit of a rough go at first, but the more he ate, the better he felt. It must have been noticeable.

“See? Rehydration and grease – works almost every time. It’s magic,” she said with a grin.

Richard was prepared to believe it was. “So…where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there. Let me just pop these in the washer and change.”

“Could I use some of your mouthwash?”

“Of course. Help yourself.”

He did while she got changed and he tried to take stock of just how bad he smelled. He really wished she would just tell him where they were going. She came out of the bedroom in jeans and t-shirt, so he knew it couldn’t be anywhere too fancy.

“Um…where did I leave my shoes?”

She laughed. “Bedroom. I’m just going to brush my teeth while you get them.”

He found his shoes and waited for her in the kitchen. She joined him a few minutes later, carrying an empty backpack which she filled with various things from the refrigerator.

“Lunch,” she explained. “Sandwiches, fruit, and your choice of water or more Powerade. You ready?”

“Is there any chance we could stop at my place first? I think I need sunglasses.”

She just laughed at him and led the way to her car. He gave her directions and they were at his place within a few minutes.

“Couldn’t I just grab a quick shower?”

“Richard, you do realize that you smell worse at the end of a day’s shooting than you do right now, right? Trust me, you’re going to want a shower when we’re done so just wait. Go get your sunglasses and get your arse back out here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He went in and got them, but decided to change. What could she do? Leave without him? Once he had a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on that weren’t rank, he went back out. When she saw him, she shook her head.

“Feel better now? I guess I should just be glad you didn’t go ahead and shower.”

“I thought about it. What are we listening to?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said as she reached to turn off her iPod. “Force of habit. I wasn’t thinking about your head.”

“My head is fine, Maggs, leave it. But what is this?”

“Her name is Loreena McKennitt. She’s Canadian and she does Celtic and World music.”

He listened while Maggie drove. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and the music was… The song that was playing sounded vaguely Middle Eastern and there was something soothing about it but it was also…

“I like this. It’s very…” He couldn’t quite come up with the right word.

She smiled. “Sensual? A lot of her stuff is. We’re here.”

They’d not traveled very far, yet they were out of the suburban area of the city. That was one of the great things about Wellington – it was a big city that felt like a small town, and you didn’t have to travel for hours to get to open space. Very unlike London.

“A stable? We’re going riding?” No wonder she said he didn’t need to bother showering.

“Mrs. Wallace’s son, Robert, owns it. I come here every Sunday that I’m not sparring. Are you up for it?” He nodded. She had called ahead and there were two horses saddled for them and waiting. “Normally, I saddle my own, but I figured this would save time,” she said as she handed him a helmet out of the tack room. “Try this one on for size.”

He did and it fit. “Why don’t you have one?”

She grinned. “Because I’m not a major component of a billion-dollar movie franchise. Richard, this is Pokey. He’s not necessarily named for his temperament.”

“Is it a comment on my riding ability?”

Maggie laughed. “No, I’ve seen you ride. You’re more than competent, and he isn’t just a slow old horse.”

They mounted, she with the help of a block, and started off. There were trails, and it was apparent that Maggie was quite familiar with each of them, so Richard was happy to let her lead the way. They rode at a comfortable pace through meadows and over hills, and Richard found himself relaxing into the rhythm of the horse. Maggie was in her element. It was clear she was a natural in the saddle, and it suited her. They rode for quite a long time in silence, each content to enjoy the day and their surroundings. Eventually, they came to a wooded area and took the trail through.

“Almost there.”

Richard didn’t realize they had a destination, but refrained from asking where “there” was. He was surprised to find that he felt more relaxed than he had since they resumed filming and the details of where they were going didn’t matter. They stopped to water the horses at a stream and continued on, but after a short while, the trees gave way to a narrow sand beach and Richard found himself looking at the sea.

“We’re here,” she said and dismounted. Richard did the same and they hobbled the horses, and Maggie sat in the sand. Richard took off his helmet and dropped down beside her. Neither of them was particularly hungry after such a large and late breakfast, but they shared the chunks of fruit Maggie had brought.

“Okay, wow.”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t have had quite the impact if I’d told you, would it?” He shook his head. “I figured after some of the things you said last night that you could use some time getting out of your head, and this usually works for me. Something about the sound of the water and all the fresh air and being able to see so much sky at once that makes things melt away for a while. There’s only one thing I know of that’s better, and you’re not allowed that.”

“What is it?”

“Beating the crap out of someone with a sword,” she grinned. “People always say how great a stress-reliever exercise is, but it isn’t for me. Simply doing the same thing over and over doesn’t do much when you can’t turn off your brain during it. But when you’re sparring, you have to pay attention because getting hit hurts like hell, so it’s in your best interest to use your brain to focus solely on what you’re doing. But somehow, this is the next best thing. And getting here on a horse, well…I don’t expect it quite gives you the thrill it does me, but I thought maybe it might help a little.”

“You get like that, too? Where you can’t turn off your brain?”

She gave a gruff laugh. “All the time. When I’m awake, when I’m asleep, when I’m at work, when I’m not at work…my head never shuts up. Ever. Even when I drink…well, that just makes it worse, really. Sometimes I’d give just about anything for a little peace and quiet in my own mind,” she said, wistfully.

“Me too.” They lapsed into silence for quite a while and just watched the water and the little shore birds that flitted at the edge. “You must think I’m the most ungrateful arsehole ever,” he said some time later as he rubbed at his eyes.

“What? No. Why would I think that?”

“How many people do you think would give their right nut to be where I am and playing Thorin?”

Maggie thought for a while and then shrugged. “I have no idea. But how many of them do you think would feel exactly the same way you do if they got the chance?” Her answer surprised him and he just stared at her. “You don’t have to love something every minute of the day to be grateful for it. I don’t love my job all the time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know I’ve been damn lucky to have been able to do it. Just because being Thorin is hard and it’s making you feel discouraged doesn’t mean I think you’re ungrateful for the opportunity. I’d like to think I know you a little too well for that.”

“I knew it would be hard,” he said as he let sand trickle through his fingers. “But I had no idea _how_ hard.”

“I think you would have had to have been clairvoyant to do so.”

He gave a short laugh. “You’re probably right. I just…sometimes I feel bad for him, and sometimes I want to shake some sense into him. And then I get angry because I can’t change things. Or him. All that for a fictional character,” he sighed.

“I think all of that means you’re probably doing it right.”

He nodded and was silent again for a while before saying, “thank you for listening.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “It’s what friends are for. But…friends also get to say when they think you’re wrong.”

He frowned. “How am I wrong? I thought you were agreeing with me.”

“I was, and for the most part, I do, except for one thing: you _can_ do this. Last night you said you couldn’t anymore. And I think you’re wrong.”

“Maggie, I’m honestly not altogether sure I _can_ do it.”

“That’s because you’re too hard on yourself and can’t see yourself objectively enough to make that assessment.”

“Oh, and you can?” He didn’t want a pep talk.

“Well, I can be more objective than _you_ can, and I watch you, remember? You rarely watch yourself. You almost never go to dailies and when you do, you spend so much time obsessing over how you think you _should_ have done something that you fail to see what you _did_ do. You’ve been doing a phenomenal job all this time and I don’t think you know it.”

“And how would you know it? It’s not like _you_ go to dailies.” He wasn’t sure why he felt so combative, but he did. It wasn’t even like she was yelling at him. In fact, she was speaking more gently than she usually did.

“No, I don’t because I’m a makeup artist and I’m off making prosthetics at that time. But I hear you talking about it. Do you think when you talk to the person in the next chair over that I can’t hear you? And I see you work every day. Do you think I spend all that time that you’re filming just plotting how I’ll ambush you the next time there’s a reset or off in a corner picking my nose? No, I’ve been watching, Richard. I’m not saying it’s wrong to think about how you could have done something differently or better, but you need to start giving yourself some credit for what you _have_ done. There are going to be fangirls – and boys - crying in the aisles when he dies and it’s not going to be because of the way Tolkien wrote him. Now, I know part of that is the script you’re given, but it’s you who has to bring those pages to life. And if I think that after watching you in a room of nothing but green – and believe me, I’m starting to really hate that color and it used to be my favorite – imagine how it will look when it’s finished. I know it weighs you down and I know it’s hard, but there’s no one who knows him the way you do so there’s no one who can do him justice the way you can.”

He stared at her, searching her face for any trace of bullshit or indication that she was just telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.

“No, I’m not just blowing sunshine up your arse.”

He laughed then. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”

“You’re not that great an enigma, Armitazh.”

“Why are you so…you?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh, come on, that’s bullshit. Your job is to glue bits to my face, make sure they stay there all day, and then take them off at night.”

“And that’s my only job, is it? I wasn’t talking about being a makeup artist. I was talking about being a _friend_ , Oakentwit.”

He smiled, then looked out over the water as they lapsed into silence again. She had a way of making him feel like she was simultaneously kicking his arse at the same time she built him up. He had no idea how she did it, but he had to admit he did feel better. There were too many people in his life who would bullshit him in a situation like this, and maybe it’s just because he _wanted_ to believe her, but he never felt like she was one of them. In fact, she was far more likely to tell him stuff he _didn’t_ want to hear than things he did.

“Why don’t I take the horses back to the stream to water them and you can sit here a while?”

“I don’t really want to leave, but I can’t sit here forever. And anyway, I do feel better.”

She smiled. “Good.”

He got up and she took the hand he reached down for her. When he pulled her to her feet, he hugged her. She was clearly startled at first, but she quickly relaxed into it and hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he said, softly.

“You’re welcome,” she answered and didn’t let go.

He liked that. He liked that she wasn’t in a hurry to pull out of the hug. He wasn’t either, but he let her go because he knew if he didn’t, he never would. _But damn, it had felt good_. Despite their height difference, they just fit, and she was so soft and warm.

As they walked their horses back to the stream, he thought about her date with Ski Guy.

“Your date last night – with Troy – why didn’t you like him?”

The question took her aback. “Oh. Um, well, I just…didn’t,” she shrugged. “Besides, he has a stupid name,” she said and then snickered and Richard laughed.

After the horses had been watered, he gave Maggie a leg up and then mounted himself and they rode back to the stable. _Holy god, she looks good on a horse._ The sun made the red in her hair flame and as she urged her horse into a canter, Richard couldn’t help but imagine how she’d look riding something else. He _must_ be feeling better.

There was someone at the barn to take their horses, so they didn’t need to unsaddle them or brush them down. When they got in the car, Richard asked if they could listen to more of the music they had been listening to earlier and Maggie turned it on. Neither spoke as they drove home. The music was loud and the windows were down and it was a very pleasant, if short, ride. All too soon, Maggie was parking in front of his place.

“Okay, go get a shower. You smell,” she said as she wrinkled her nose.

“Ha! Thanks, May-reed. You’re so good for my ego.”

“And do me a favor and drink a couple more bottles of water. It’s bad enough that Aidan and Dean frequently sweat alcohol, I can’t deal with you doing it, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you again. For everything.”

“Anytime,” she said with a smile as he started to get out of the car.

“Oh hey, what’s her name again,” he asked as he pointed to Maggie’s iPod.

“Loreena McKennitt.” She disconnected the pod and handed it to him. “Here. Take it for a few days and listen to it. If you like her, then you can download her stuff. It’s okay,” she said in answer to his look. “I can do without it for a few days. It’s all on my hard drive anyway.”

“Thanks.”

He took it and headed in, waving to Maggie as she drove off. Once inside, he dutifully got a bottle of water and drank it as he made his way to the bathroom for a very much needed shower. As he stood under the water, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Maggie looked when she rode. Hers wasn’t the kind of beauty that stopped traffic, but it was a sort of quiet, unassuming attractiveness that occasionally blazed into full flame when he didn’t expect it. It seemed to burn hotter because she didn’t even seem to be aware of it, and he was sure it could consume him if he let it – and right now, he was of a mind to let it.

Finally, blessedly clean, he dried off and then wrapped the towel around his hips and went into the bedroom. He found his earbuds and plugged them into her iPod and thumbed his way to the song he’d first heard that morning – “The Gates of Istanbul” – as he sat on his bed.

It was slow, with a melody that weaved its way around and above the rhythm section and it brought to mind slowly gyrating hips – Maggie’s hips. He’d seen the way she could move her body when she danced, and he wondered if she ever danced to this song. He could imagine her, moving around her sitting room…in a black lace bra and panties, perhaps?...her body writhing. He could join her, dancing behind her, lightly holding those hips in his hands as her delicious little arse moved against him. Then he’d hold her in the circle of his arms, but loosely, so she still had room to move and he could feel every part of her undulating body sliding against his own.

Or maybe he’d just watch her. Maybe he’d sit on her couch and let her dance for him. At first, he could imagine her with her back to him, pretending she didn’t know he was there, pretending she was dancing for herself and not for him. If she wanted him to beg her to turn around, he would, and she would oblige…after making him wait…and then the dance would be for him. All for him.

The song ended and he hurriedly hit the repeat button, and when it started over, Maggie was dancing again. This time, as the song progressed, she moved closer and closer to him until she straddled his lap. But still, she kept dancing and he let his hands wander all over her – touching, stroking every inch of her until she slid down off his lap to the floor and let his cock, which was straining against his trousers in his imagination the way it was against his towel, free. He imagined her taking him into that lovely mouth as he buried both hands in her hair…

God, he needed to touch himself. He yanked the towel off and took himself in hand and slowly stroked – just enough to take the edge off because his imagination wasn’t done yet. The song ended again and he restarted it. He wondered if she ever touched herself to this song. Fuck, that was a hot image. Maggie, sitting on the couch, naked now, with her legs spread and her fingers playing over her pussy – rubbing herself, fingering herself. How he’d like to kneel before her and watch.

“No, don’t stop,” he’d say and she’d keep going while he ran his hands up her thighs and on up her body to her breasts. He’d love the chance to show her that he did, indeed, know what to do with nipples when he had them, and all the while she’d play with herself until he couldn’t stand just to watch anymore (he would never let her bring herself off, hot as that would be, because he wanted that honor all to himself). He would gently move her hand away and suck her fingers before dipping his head down to taste her. To lick her and suck her and fuck her with his tongue until she begged for release.

He groaned as his hand tightened on his cock. This was wrong. This was dirty. And he didn’t care. He started the song over again and he rubbed his balls with his free hand as the other moved faster along his length. He wished it was her wrapped around him. Maybe she could kneel on the couch with her hands bracing herself on the back. He could take her from behind while his hands roamed all over her… But no, that’s not what he wanted. He wanted to see her face – to watch her as he slid into her and then as he moved so slowly, to the rhythm of the song, in and out of her over and over and over and over, grinding himself against her, kissing her until they were both breathless, then letting her ride him the way she rode her horse, his hands on her hips bringing her down on him harder and faster as he thrust up to meet her, their bodies slick with sweat, his thumb rubbing her as she rode until she clenched around him and screamed his name as she ca-

“FUCK!”

He came hard, panting and shaking and groaning, then fell back on the bed. He lay there for quite a while, catching his breath and working up the energy to move. When he finally gathered himself, he pulled the earbuds out of his ears and headed back to the shower to clean himself up.

There was no doubt now. Thorin would _not_ be the death of him after all. Maggie would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard's favorite Loreena McKennitt song: [The Gates of Istanbul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=To5XEeg_xeo)


	13. And he cooks, too

There was only one problem with fantasizing about Maggie the way he had: having to face her the next morning. Fortunately, Richard didn’t realize how awkward he was going to feel until he was crossing the parking lot on the way to the prosthetics truck. There’d been other things on his mind after he’d showered the second time – most notably everything Maggie had done for him.

He cringed when he thought about how he’d shown up roaring drunk in the middle of the night. She had every right to be angry with him, but she hadn’t done. She’d asked him in without question and took care of him. It wasn’t that there weren’t other people he could have gone to, but he knew the reason that it was _her_ address he’d given the cabbie (even if he still couldn’t remember making the decision ) was because he knew that just by being herself, she’d make him feel better. And she had – simply by taking him in, listening, and then putting him to bed, he’d felt better. But then she’d fed him and…well, sometimes it felt good to stop being a responsible, forty-year-old man and let someone take care of him.

Maggie could have stopped there and it would have been enough, but she didn’t. She’d gotten him out into the sunshine and shared a place he knew was special to her. She hadn’t said it was, but he could see it in the way she sat and looked out over the water. She could have (gently) kicked his arse from the comfort of her own couch, but she’d given him the gift of a peaceful, natural setting to relax in while she politely said things he didn’t necessarily want to hear. And she’d made him believe them.

He wanted to thank her, really thank her, but he knew that if he tried, she’d just roll her eyes and act like it wasn’t a big deal. And if he tried to repay her kindness with something he felt was on a level with what she’d given him, they’d probably only end up screaming at each other on the sidewalk again. He had to think of _something_ , though, because he had left Stone Street on Saturday night wondering how he’d ever survive another day of Thorin, and he was returning with the mindset that he was the only one in the world who could do the character justice, and that was all down to Maggie.

_Dancing, naughty Maggie_ , he thought as he checked his pocket to make sure he had her iPod. He’d downloaded every Loreena McKennitt song that was available the night before so that he could return it. He just prayed she wasn’t the type to pay attention to play counts so she wouldn’t know just how many times he’d played “The Gates of Istanbul” because he had no idea how he’d explain it. Even if he went with a lame, “I really like that song,” his face would likely give him away. _Jesus, it might do that anyway._

He had just walked into the truck and seen her. She had her back to him, and that lovely, lovely arse of hers wa- He muttered a “good morning” in response to hers as he dropped into the chair and didn’t meet her eyes.

“I decided I’d just go ahead and download everything last night so you wouldn’t be without your iPod for too long. I did listen to a bunch of things first to make sure I liked it, so thank you for this,” he said and handed it to her, hoping she wouldn’t notice he couldn’t look at her.

“You don’t need to give this back yet. I said you could keep it a couple of days.”

“You didn’t hear me? I said I downloaded the entire catalog last night.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.” He was relieved that she was busy stirring a pot of glue and wouldn’t notice that he kept his eyes fixed on the counter. “I’m not awake enough yet, I guess.”

She started to work on him and Richard decided that it was a good morning just to close his eyes and focus on the day ahead. It seemed the safest course of action. From then on, there was no time for awkwardness. The whole week was busy and before he knew it, it was Saturday night and he started thinking about Sunday night dinner. And then he had an idea.

“Hey, how about dinner at mine tomorrow night?”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. But, um…why? I mean, it just surprises me, that’s all.”

“You went so far above and beyond last weekend, and…no, you did, so don’t roll your eyes at me. And it’s always you doing the work, so it’s the least I can do.” _Literally, but you probably wouldn’t let me do anything else._

“You do your share of the dishes and some weeks you buy takeaway.”

“Yeah, well, we’re doing it differently this week.”

“ _I’m_ buying the takeaway?” She grinned.

“Ha. Nope, no one is buying takeaway.”

“You’re cooking? Sorry! I mean, can I bring anything?”

“Your DVD collection? And shall we say five-thirty for six?”

She smiled. “Deal.”

_Well, that was easier than I thought it would be._ After breakfast with the boys, Richard went to the market for everything he’d need for dinner. He decided on something simple – chicken and veg cooked in wine and garlic served over pasta – with dark chocolate ice cream for dessert. When he got in line, he realized he was behind Troy. _Frozen dinners, a bag of pretzels, and beer – that’s definitely the grocery order of a bachelor_. Richard wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. He kind of pitied the guy, actually. Not enough to say, “sorry she didn’t like you” or anything, but…

Once home, he stowed the food away and inspected the place. He’d paid an obscene amount for the cleaning crew to come while he was out, and they’d done a good job on the common areas. He didn’t bother checking his bedroom. Not that he wouldn’t love to give her a tour of his be- er, _the room_ , but no. _No naughty thoughts tonight, please_. He spent the afternoon catching up on emails and even managed to read a new script he’d been sent, and made a playlist of Loreena McKennit’s safer songs before getting to work chopping the veg and chicken. He knew if he didn’t have that all done by the time Maggie got there, she’d insist on helping.

At 5:30, with the chicken just starting to brown in the garlic and olive oil, he poured a glass of wine for her and waited. Less than two minutes later, he opened his door and handed it to her.

“Now this is service. I like this place,” she smiled.

“This place has something yours doesn’t,” he said and grinned as he led her in. “An actual for real grown-up dining table.”

She laughed. “Hey, I’m sure if my place were bigger I’d have one, but Mrs. Wallace said it was a choice between a table or a washer and dryer. If eating on the couch is the price of being able to do laundry at home, I’ll take that deal all day, every day.”

“I don’t blame you. But it’s still fun to eat like an adult every once in a while.” He’d even set the table ahead of time. He’d stopped short of putting out candles because that would be overkill and he wasn’t trying to seduce her. _Am I?_

“It smells amazing. Anything I can do to help?”

Richard walked into the kitchen and she followed. “Absolutely not. How many times had I been to your place before you’d let me so much as chop an onion?”

“You made pasta the first time you were ever there!”

“Correction: I tried to make pasta, but you wouldn’t let me finish. Now, I’m sorry, but you have not earned kitchen privileges at my place.”

“Fine, Oakenchef. I will just stand here watching you do all the work.” _Oakenchef. Why the hell does that amuse me so much?_

The chicken was cooked through so he deglazed the pan with white wine and added zucchini, mushrooms, and tomatoes, and then put water on for pasta.

“I don’t even get to make the pasta?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “I’ll let you pour yourself another glass of wine, though.” She rolled her eyes as she did so. “I, um, saw your friend Troy at the market this afternoon.” _Why the hell are you telling her THAT?_

“Oh?” He couldn’t tell if that tone of nonchalance was genuine or forced.

“And he was very definitely only shopping for one.” _Seriously, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_

“Okay.” _Not nonchalance – wariness._

“I just thought maybe after a week, you’d reconsidered and might want to call him.” _Oh, for the love of fuck, am I TRYING to get them together?_

“Um…no. No, I haven’t and no, I don’t,” she said before taking a long sip of her wine.

_Well dammit_. He felt like a complete prat. She should be happy, but he really didn’t want to even think about her with another man. “I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s none of my business and I should shut up. I just thought…”

She sighed. “It’s okay, you meant well. It’s my own fault. Maybe if I went out more often, doing so wouldn’t be such a remarkable occurrence and people wouldn’t want all the details. It really wasn’t him, it was me, cliché though that sounds. I just didn’t feel like we clicked and I didn’t want to waste time forcing something that wasn’t there. The world’s a happier place when I’m not in a relationship anyway. They make me a little crazy. Oh no, I’m not a bunny-boiler,” she said in answer to his raised eyebrow. “Relationships just tend to make me anxious and stressed and that’s not exactly an attractive quality. Lizzie would be happy to know this picture is still on your fridge.”

Richard saw right through her unsubtle change of topic, but truth be told, he was grateful for it. “And it will stay there until I pack to leave, and then it will be carefully shipped home and then framed,” he said with a smile. “Dinner is served.” He carried the plates through to the dining area and she followed with the wine, and they sat and started to eat. “ _Return of the King_ with dessert?”

“Well, we watched the first two…This is delicious!”

“Don’t sound so surprised!” He laughed. “Though I guess I deserve it. It shouldn’t have taken this long to do the cooking.”

“I haven’t minded. I like to cook. And I like takeaway.” _God, when she smiles…_

“Still. What you did last weekend…no, don’t argue with me, just listen.” He took a deep breath and wouldn’t meet her eyes. He figured if he made eye contact, she’d tell him to shut up and he _needed_ to say this. “I showed up drunk on your doorstep in the middle of the night, you took me in, you listened, you gave up your bed, and… if all of that wasn’t enough, and I think most people wouldn’t have opened the door –you got me out to your special place, gently kicked my whingy arse, and somehow managed to make me feel better. I know you think “hey, it’s what friends do” but not all friends would and I want you to know I appreciate it. And I’m sorry that I can’t really even tell you how much I appreciate it and what it means to me because I can’t put it into words, so you’re just going to have to take it on faith. Because that’s something else friends do.” Relieved she’d let him get through it, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Okay, I’m done. _Now_ you can argue with me.”

“The things you say in that voice, Richard Armitage, should be illegal,” she said with a slight tinge of what seemed like awe before laughing. “But I won’t argue with you. I’ll just say you’re welcome,” she smiled and they continued eating. “Do I get to help with the dishes?” She asked when they finished, but he just gave her look that said he wasn’t going to dignify her question with an answer. “Okay, okay. But if we’re going to watch a three-hour movie, you have to point me in the direction of your bathroom first.”

He did so and while she went to use it, he cleared the table, put the leftovers away and got two bowls of ice cream. He took them into the living room and found her DVDs and put _Return of the King_ in the player and waited for her. When she came out, he handed her one of the bowls and she smiled.

“You do know that this is not actually the best chocolate dessert, right?”

“ _WHAT?_ Blasphemy! Get out of my house!”

She giggled. “Don’t get me wrong – this is a _very_ close second, but dark chocolate mousse is better.”

She was being deliberately provocative and he gasped dramatically. “And I thought I knew you,” he said, shaking his head. “All right, I’ll grant you mousse is good, but it’s harder to find than ice cream.”

“…which just makes it more satisfying when you do find it.”

“I think we have to face the fact that we are never going to agree, May-reed.”

“I think you’re right, Armitazh. But it’s okay, I can forgive you for being wrong. Morag thinks you’re too perfect anyway, so she’ll be glad to know you’re flawed.”

He just rolled his eyes. “I’m starting the movie now.”

The last couple of times they’d had Sunday night dinner, they’d ended the evening with the first two parts of the extended edition of _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. _Return of the King_ was clearly her favorite, and she made him replay the part where Eowyn kills the Witch King three times. When he refused a fourth, she pouted. “Please?”

_Oh damn, those pouty lips._ There were several comments he wanted to make right then, but he didn’t say any of them and merely muttered “fine” before starting the scene over. Maggie laughed. Yeah, she’d won that round but only because that mouth of hers had sent his mind straight into the gutter. Richard had to work very hard to concentrate on the rest of the movie.

But then a funny thing happened. Despite the fact that there was always a prim and proper cushion between them when they sat together, he felt Maggie go tense when Sam carried Frodo up the side of Mt. Doom. And then when Aragorn said “My friends…you bow to no one,” he could have sworn that he saw her wipe a tear or two in his peripheral vision. Maggie crying? This was…new. And finally, when Gandalf said “I will not say “do not weep”, for not all tears are an evil,” she suddenly bolted off the couch and announced “bathroom!”

“Do you want me to pause it?” he yelled to her back which was already halfway out of the room.

“No, I’ve seen it four hundred times already.”

Richard was flabbergasted. He’d only seen Maggie cry twice – and both times they had to do with Lizzie. She didn’t even cry at the end of _Braveheart_. Everybody cried at the end of _Braveheart_! He’d often wondered about that. He knew she had some tear jerkers in her “secret” DVD folder, and surely some of them had to make her well up, right? But why in the hell did she need to run out of the room? Did she think he’d laugh at her? That certainly didn’t say much for her opinion of him.

Richard was watching the last of the credits when she came back in the room. “You know, there were tissues out here. You didn’t have to run away. You could have just, you know, cried.” He turned and looked at her and saw her go completely still. It was her “busted” stance.

“What?”

“There’s no shame in crying at a movie, Maggie.”

“I know that. But I don’t cry at movies.”

“Except this one, apparently.”

“No, not this one. You think because I went to the bathroom that I was crying? I went to the bathroom because I had to go to the bathroom, Richard.”

Really? She was going to stand there and lie about it? It was so absurd, he had to laugh. “Oh, come on. What’s the big deal? It’s an emotional film. You’re _supposed_ to cry.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at doing what I’m supposed to do then because I wasn’t crying.”

That made him laugh even harder. “Why can’t you just admit it? You’re so ridiculously stubborn sometimes.”

“If I had cried,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’d admit it. But I didn’t cry, so there’s nothing to admit. Can we please be done with this now? Thank you.” _Ooh, she’s pissed. And lying out her arse without remorse, too._

He shook his head. “Fine. You weren’t crying. I apologize,” he said, hand to heart.

“May I at least rinse the dessert bowls?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I should get going then. Some arsehole prima donna actor wants to get an early start tomorrow,” she said as she collected her DVD folder and prepared to leave.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you put up with that guy,” he answered and gave her a cheeky look to make her smile. He really hadn’t meant to piss her off and he was trying to make amends while walking her to the door.

“Well…he has his good points.”

_Oh, I’d love to show you my good points, Mairead._ “Someday, maybe you can tell me what they are,” he said with his hand on the doorknob. He knew how he was looking at her then, but part of him wanted to see what she’d do.

She gave a shaky laugh. “I wouldn’t want to inflate his ego. Thanks for dinner.” She smiled…just a touch too brightly.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice dropping just a little lower as he opened the door for her and stood aside…purposely not quite far enough so that she couldn’t get around him without brushing against him as she passed.

“See you tomorrow,” she said with a little wave over her shoulder once she was through the door.

“Good night,” he called after her softly, but he was sure she didn’t hear him – she was already halfway down the walk. He almost yelled to ask where the fire was. Well, besides in his pants, that is.

He stood leaning in the doorway as she got in her car and pulled out. He’d be prepared to bet a rather large sum of money that he hadn’t been the only one to feel the tension in the air, if only for a few seconds. He liked that he could fluster her. God knew she did it to him often enough.

When she turned the corner, he went inside to do the dishes and he marveled at how calmly she stood there and lied to his face about crying. This was the woman who _still_ felt bad about lying to Stephen about the size of his panic attack all those months ago, yet this was at least the third time she’d lied without any visible remorse whatsoever. She’d lied about her secret chick flick stash (more than once – he’d heard her say she didn’t watch them on numerous occasions), she’d lied (or at least left something out) about her background in self-defense, and she’d lied about crying tonight. Why did she even feel the need to lie? Whatever the reason, Maggie had an extremely over-developed sense of self-preservation.

Actually, maybe that was it. Whenever she felt she needed to protect herself, she’d lie like a champion. But why did she feel she had to protect herself?

Richard knew he could debate himself all night and still never come up with an explanation, so it was pointless to speculate. He readied himself for bed and thought instead of the two positives he’d take from the evening: she really didn’t want Troy, and she wasn’t as immune to sexual tension as she’d like.


	14. He ain't heavy, he's my brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, poo. I was supposed to post this chapter before Maggie's counterpart, but I apparently had a senior moment and posted out of order. So what the heck, have two chapters today. If you haven't read either version yet, read this one first. Whichever, thank you for reading!

There was nothing about Thorin that got any easier, but Richard’s mindset had changed. Filming was still exhausting both emotionally and physically, but he was able to face it even at its most challenging with a grim determination not just to see it through, but to do it justice. He had his bad days here and there, but for the most part, he felt that he _could_ do it.

That wasn’t _all_ down to Maggie, not really. He did have faith in himself, but he’d lost it a bit for a while there, and she’d helped him find it. And knowing that _she_ believed in him, too, well…he’d been in this business long enough to understand the danger in relying too heavily on the validation of any one person, but he trusted her not to pay him false compliments. If she said she believed in him, then she believed in him.

He had a true and valuable friend in her, and that was an increasingly rare thing in his world. It was rare enough that he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it – rare enough that even if he could get past his rule against getting involved with cast or crew (and he knew how easily he could toss that aside when he wanted to), he wouldn’t. He’d thought about it, obviously, and in terms far more specific than just random dirty daydreams and wank-fodder. It didn’t help that he was now almost certain that Maggie wasn’t immune to him – to know that he _could_ affect her if he chose, because it made him _want_ to more than ever; but the quickest way to over-complicate a friendship was to sleep together and he wouldn’t risk fucking it up. He’d just have to make do with his fantasies. He would never try anything.

He never expected that _she_ might.

It had been a couple months since he’d had her over to his place, and he’d kept his promise to himself – he hadn’t tried anything. He’d gone home hard from most Sunday night dinners, but he hadn’t attempted even one smolder. Sometimes being frustrated, grumpy Thorin wasn’t much of a challenge. He just channeled his own frustration and grumpiness. If he ever won an award for this, maybe he’d have to include Maggie in his acceptance speech. _Heh._

Then, one Saturday, he was just passing the prosthetics truck on his way out for the night when one of the studio’s security carts pulled to a stop in front of him and the single largest human he’d ever seen got out. He heard the door of the truck slam open behind him, followed by a high-pitched female squeal. Before he could even turn around to find out who’d made the noise, Maggie was running at top speed past him and launching herself at the giant. He caught her easily and spun her around, with both of them laughing. Richard’s first reaction to seeing Maggie in another man’s arms was to shudder internally as the cold fingers of jealousy wrapped themselves around his spine. And then he saw her punch the giant (seriously, the guy had to be almost a half meter taller than she was) in the arm. Hard.

“Oh Rory, you bloody giant numbtie! Why did you not tell me you were coming?”

_Rory – the brother who’s not married to Morag._

The giant – Rory – laughed. “And miss seeing the look on your face?”

“Well, what the hell are you doing here? Oh, Richard,” she said when she noticed him approaching, “come meet my brother. Richard, Rory. Rory, this is Richard Armitage.”

Rory raised an eyebrow. “Morag’s freebie?”

“Told you,” Maggie said to Richard, giggling.

Richard rolled his eyes and shook Rory’s hand. There weren’t many people he had to look up to, and Maggie’s brother actually made him feel small. He had to be six-foot-seven and about twenty-five stone.

“Nice to meet you,” Richard said and Rory answered in kind.

“So are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or what?”

“Settle yourself, Mad. Did ye want me to answer yer question or meet yer friend?” He asked with an indulgent smile. “I was in Jakarta for work and figured that was the closest I was ever going to come to being in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d come for a wee visit. But before ye get _too_ excited, Mad, I only have until Tuesday. Then I must fly back to Edinburgh.” Maggie pouted.

“Mad?” Richard asked.

Maggie opened her mouth, obviously to protest, but Rory answered first. “Her initials, for one thing. And she was a really angry bairn, especially when someone was feeding her and didn’t shovel it in fast enough. She’d make these wee fists, and her face would go all red, and she’d scream. So…Mad.”

“Yes, thank you for the fascinating biography, Rory. You can shut up now.”

Richard laughed. He had no trouble picturing a tiny, angry Maggie screaming until she got her way.

“Well, enjoy your evening, _Mad_. Rory, thanks for the info. It was a pleasure.” Rory laughed and they shook hands again. Maggie looked like she wanted to kill them both.

Much later that night, Richard was driving home from dinner and drinks with Luke and Orlando when he saw something that was equal parts hilarious and terrifying. Maggie and Rory were toe-to-toe on the sidewalk and she – tiny, wee Maggie – actually had him backing up. She was poking him hard in the chest and yelling loudly enough that Richard could clearly hear her over the motor with the windows up.

“YE’RE A BLOODY FUCKIN’ STUPID EEJIT WI’ NO MORE SENSE THAN GOD GAVE A ROCK, RORY DRUMMOND! AN’ IF YE’D JUST USE THE GIANT THICK STUPID FUCKIN’ LUMP ON TOP O’ YER NECK FOR ONE FUCKIN’ MINUTE YE’D KNOW HOW FUCKIN’ STUPID YE ARE!”

Wow. Maggie got loud – and very, very Scottish – when she got drunk, which is what she had to be. She was wobbling on her feet, and Richard didn’t think it was just because she had to look so far up to make eye contact with her brother. She started another tirade and he realized that someone, namely him, was going to have to intervene or she’d be looking at disturbing the peace and public intoxication charges. He pulled over and jogged the distance to the combatants. Rory saw him coming, but Maggie didn’t.

“Maggie! MAGGIE! STOP YELLING!” Rory had finally managed to put some space between them so Richard slid an arm around her waist and hauled her even further away.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YE AND WHAT THE FU- Richard?” She squinted up at him. “What ye doin’ here?”

“Keeping you from getting arrested.”

“Arrested? For what? WHO’S ARRESTIN’ ME?”

“Maggie,” he said as slowly and clearly as he could, “you need to stop yelling. Someone is going to hear you and call the police. If they haven’t already.” Unfortunately, the mention of yelling seemed to remind her of what she had been doing when he’d interrupted her.

“YELLIN’? I’LL FUCKIN’ STOP YELLIN’ WHEN THAT AMADAN ST-“

Richard clamped his hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. Rory, who had thus far been completely silent as far as Richard knew, chose that moment to laugh. Richard used his free hand to grab Maggie’s arm, lest she pull away from him and attack her brother.

“Don’t you dare bite my hand, Maggie Drummond. If I let you go, are you going to keep yelling?” _Or are you just going to kill me with your eyes?_ She shook her head, and he let go. She just glared at him. “Good. Now, how about I give you and Rory a lift back to your flat, eh?”

“Um, how about no? Pretty sure my brither an’ I can handle it from here, but thanks, Oakenscout.”

Rory laughed. “Well, I can handle it from here; _ye’d_ likely pass out before we got there. Let the man drive us home, Mad.”

She rounded on him. “WHY DON’T YOU BLOODY SH-“

“ENOUGH!” Richard moved between them and invaded every inch of her personal space that he could. He didn’t tower over her the way Rory did, but he knew he could be imposing enough to shut her up. “You will stop yelling,” he said through gritted teeth, “and get in my car and let me drive you home.”

“The hell I will,” she said in perfect imitation of his tone.

“Maggie, if you don’t, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

Her eyes went wide again. “Ye wouldn’t dare.”

He smiled – _oh, you have no idea WHAT I’d dare_ \- and then did exactly what he’d warned her he’d do and started making his way to the car. She tried to kick, but it was easy enough to immobilize her legs. At least his nuts weren’t in any danger, and the way he had her over his shoulder, she apparently couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to scream.

“Put me down! Shit! Rory, make him stop!”

Rory merely laughed and Richard was relieved. He had been slightly concerned that Rory might take offense to the manhandling of his little sister. Maggie was currently trying to hit him, but she was too uncoordinated to do much damage and was mostly just flailing her arms. Occasionally, she did manage to connect with an arse cheek, but he barely noticed. And then she started laughing. Richard should have known that meant trouble.

“Rory?”

“Yes, Mad?”

“Tell Morag.”

“Tell Morag what?”

"Tell Morag…that I…did THIS!”

And then she grabbed two handfuls of Richard’s arse and squeezed.

“Oh god, it’s so firm an’ rou-“

“MAIREAD,” Richard yelled and dropped her. Whether it was being deposited back on the ground so abruptly, the fact that he’d used her given name, the tone with which he’d used it, or some combination of the three, Maggie was finally, blessedly quiet. She swallowed hard and stared at the ground. “Get in the car, Maggie…NOT in the front, that’s the only place Rory will fit. You get in the back.” She glared at him, but quailed at his look and meekly got in the back seat. “Behind Rory so I can keep an eye on you, please.” _How in the hell do I want to throw her over the bonnet of this car and have my way with her – giant, lurking brother be damned – while I’m yelling at her like she’s a disobedient child? God help me. Please._

“Thanks, mate,” Rory said with a smile. “If I’d tried any o’ that, one of us would have ended up in hospital. Probably me.”

Richard chuckled and got in. _My pleasure. Sort of._ As he drove to Maggie’s, he’d occasionally glance back at her. She was practically shaking with anger, but she wisely kept quiet.

“Are you all right back there?”

She wouldn’t deign to answer. She merely lifted her chin another inch or so and turned to stare out the window. She wouldn’t even lower herself to look at him. Richard wanted to laugh when he realized that clichés became clichés because they were frequently true – Maggie was beautiful when she was angry.

When he pulled to a stop by her place, she stumbled out of his car before he could even kill the motor and headed in a hurry for the stairs to her flat, but she stopped dead halfway there.

“Rory! The moon,” she said as she stared up at the sky. “What time is it at hame?”

Rory shook his head and shrugged. “A little after ten in the morning,” Richard offered.

“So she cannae see it. She can never see it the same time I can,” Maggie said, completely deflated.

“Sing it anyway, lass,” Rory said softly. “I’ll tell her ye did.”

Maggie shook her head sadly. “She says it isna right if we cannae actually both see it.”

“But ye’ll feel better if ye do, and Lizzie will know ye were thinking about her.” Rory laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Go on.” Richard was surprised when she did.

“ _I see the moon/And the moon sees me./The moon sees somebody I’d like to see./So God bless the moon,/And God bless me,/And God bless the somebody I’d like to see._ ”

There wasn’t much of a melody to it – it was just a sing-song children’s tune – but Richard got the impression that this woman could _sing_. He was also fairly certain he’d never look at the moon quite the same way again. Rory kissed her on top of her head and she turned to resume her trek to the stairs. She stumbled and he caught her…which earned him a punch in the arm. Richard decided to follow to make sure they got inside without starting another loud argument or killing each other. Once inside, Maggie wobbled her way into the sitting room.

“Ye boys can do whatever ye want. I’m going to bed. Well, couch,” she said as she plopped down.

Richard smiled. “Because Rory doesn’t fit, right?”

“Yes. God, the only two men I can get into my bed are my brother an’ _you_. That is so pathetic.”

“I was drunk,” Richard said in answer to Rory’s look. “And she slept on the couch, I swear.”

“Oh, aye. That I believe,” Rory answered as he sat on the coffee table which groaned under his weight. He started taking off Maggie’s shoes. “Would ye mind getting her a bottle of water?” Richard went to the fridge to get one – noticing how empty it was in the process – and brought it back to Rory. “My thanks,” he said as he helped Maggie sit back up. “Come on, ye wee harpy. Let’s get this down ye.” He supported her while she drank the water, then laid her back down and covered her with a blanket. She was already asleep. Rory gestured toward the kitchen. “I meant it when I said thanks for yer help,” he said, once they were out of the sitting room. “If ye hadn’t shown up when ye did, I’d probably have had to carry her home.”

“No problem – I’m just glad I was there. I really did worry someone would call the police on her. Well that, and I’ve never seen her drunk before,” he grinned. “And I didn’t even know she could sing.”

“Too bad you weren’t there for the karaoke, then.”

“She did karaoke? _Maggie?_ ”

“Oh aye. She’ll do it sober if she knows everyone in the pub sometimes, but usually she has to be pretty tipsy. She did “Chain of Fools” tonight.”

“Damn, I’m sorry I missed that.” Richard tried very hard just to sound merely curious and not as aroused by the mental image as he was.

“Pretty sure her friend – Natalie, is it? – has video on her phone,” Rory grinned. “Oh, and here’s another piece of info: there’s another reason we call her Mad. Our group does living history things from time to time, and there was this once when we all had to have character personas that the punters could ask us about. We drew out of a hat, and Mairead picked “pirate queen” but didn’t like it and wanted to switch. Our cousin Charlie immediately pointed out that it was perfect for her because she was already “Mad Mairead” and wouldn’t let her. Now, ye can do whatever ye want with this info and Natalie’s video, but I just ask that ye wait until after I’ve left on Tuesday,” he finished, laughing.

“Why are you telling me this?” Richard asked with a grin.

“Because right before ye showed up, my sister kicked me in the shin, or tried to, anyway. This is my payback.”

Richard laughed. “And I thought my brother and I were bad. Are you going to be okay? You’re not going to kill each other, are you?”

“No, we’re fine, thanks. She’s out for the count and she’s not much of a threat asleep.”

Richard bid him good night and good luck and took his leave. He drove home debating which was a hotter image: Maggie dressed as a pirate queen, or Maggie singing. Maybe it was Maggie singing while dressed as a pirate queen. Good god, he needed help. Actually, he needed to get _laid_. When Maggie had grabbed his arse, it had sent a jolt of electricity straight into his balls. Dropping her had only half been about getting her to let go. The other half was keeping himself from grabbing hers. Part of him wished they’d both get drunk together some night and just see where it led, but he knew that idea held too much potential for disaster.

There was no lads’ breakfast the next morning, and he remembered how bare Maggie’s refrigerator was. She and Rory were likely in need of a fry-up, so he decided to go to the market and pick up the necessities and take them over. He figured neither of them was in much shape to do it themselves. When he got to her place, he decided texting her was probably a more gentle wake up than banging on the door.

_Hey, are you awake yet? I come bearing breakfast._

She answered faster than he’d expected. _Where are you? What kind of breakfast?_

_Standing on your sidewalk, and full fry-up._

He saw one of the curtains in her sitting room twitch. _Damn, it’s bright. Come up._

By the time he got upstairs, she had the door open for him. She didn’t really look all that much worse for wear – maybe just a bit rough around the edges.

“Before you say I didn’t have to do this, I know I didn’t. But I noticed last night that you didn’t have very much in the way of food in, so I thought this might help. And hey, you fed me when I was hungover.”

She gave him a weak smile. “I’m too tired to argue with you. Thank you. Rory’s not up yet, but I’ll get started.”

“Um, no, you won’t,” he said as he held the grocery bags out of reach. “I’m not just the delivery boy, I’m here to cook it, too. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t argue about that, either,” he added as he stared her down. She must have really felt like hell, because she didn’t even try.

“I, um…I want to apologize for last night. I don’t actually remember too much but, I, uh, I’m sure I was obnoxious.” The way she blushed crimson all the way to the roots of her hair made Richard wonder just how truthful she was about what she remembered.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for… _Mad_ ,” he replied with his most dazzling smile. “Nothing at all.”

He gave her two bottles of some green sports drink he found – one for her and one for Rory, and shooed her out of the kitchen. Miraculously, she thanked him and went. A few minutes later as he was heating the skillet, he heard the low rumble of Rory’s voice and then Maggie’s.

“Do I smell food?”

“No,” she answered with a short laugh.

“ _Could_ I smell food?”

A longer, louder laugh then. “Actually, yes. Richard’s here and he’s cooking.”

Richard could almost hear the raised brow. “Does he do this often?”

“No, you unsubtle jerk. This is the first time. I think he just wants to make sure I don’t kill you.”

“I swear ye were going to last night. I know, I know, it’s because I’m stupid. Ye made that abundantly clear.”

“You are, you know,” she said fondly.

“So ye keep telling me,” he chuckled.

“For real, though. You love her, Rory, and you’re _in_ love with her. And god help her, she’s in love with you. She knows what an arse you are and she still manages to worship the ground you walk on. You are never, ever going to find anyone better for you than she is. And you’re good for her - you’re different when you’re with her. Is there someone else you want?”

“God, no!”

“Then marry the girl, you daftie.”

“You need a man.”

She snorted. “Why? Do you think if I had one that I’d stop nagging you? Ha! Besides, there’s a drawer in my night table that could argue that I do not, in fact, need a man.”

Richard caught the spatula approximately three millimeters before it clattered to the ground. _Holy shit. She has toys?_

“Oh god,” Rory said, clearly aghast, “that’s so wrong and inappropriate!”

Maggie laughed. “Okay, Arbiter of Appropriateness. Remind me again who it was who announced during Gran’s birthday dinner one year that he was growing hair ‘round his willie?”

Rory chuckled. “Hey! It was the first and only time I ever did anything before Hamish!”

“Remember the cake Gran made you the next day? “Congratulations on your curlicues, Rory!”” They both laughed even harder.

“Yeah, and remember Da asking ye if ye knew what the curlicues were?”

Maggie was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “And I said I had no idea but as long as there was cake it didn’t matter!”

Richard had the food finished and plated and took Maggie’s and Rory’s out to the sitting room. Maggie was curled up next to Rory and he couldn’t stop himself wondering how it would feel if she snuggled up with him like that.

“I like this man, Mad,” Rory said as he took his plate.

“Yeah, he’s all right,” she said with a smile but then frowned. “You didn’t make any for yourself?”

“I couldn’t carry three, Maggs, and I didn’t feel like balancing one on my head,” Richard answered before going back to fetch his own. He brought it out and sat and tucked in.

“This is great of ye, mate. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Maggie agreed. “But what are we keeping you from?”

“You’re welcome and nothing. I have plans this afternoon with Luke, but I’m free until then. So Rory, you said you were in Jakarta for work?”

“Aye,” Rory answered between bites. “I’m a structural engineer and I was consulting on a drainage project.”

“Drainage project,” Maggie repeated. “Is that engineer-speak for poop tubes?”

Rory laughed. “Aye, and I haven’t washed my hands since,” he said as he palmed her face and she squealed.

Richard liked the two of them together – when they weren’t fighting, that is. They were fun and funny and obviously cared for each other deeply. He wondered what it was like when all the Drummonds got together, and he wondered if he’d ever have a reason to find out.

When they were finished eating, Maggie wouldn’t hear of Richard doing any of the cleanup, and insisted they not take up any more of his morning. She walked him to the door and thanked him three more times.

“Maggie, stop. You’re welcome,” he said, chuckling.

“You’ll be back for dinner?”

“No, but thank you. You don’t get that much time with Rory, so enjoy it while you can. But please try not to kill him. I don’t know what the bail laws are here.”

Maggie laughed. “Understood.”

Richard left and headed home. He remembered, in the early days when he’d first met Maggie, wondering if she’d ever stop surprising him. He was convinced now more than ever that she never would. In the past twenty-four hours, he’d found out that she could be an ornery drunk, could sing, dressed up like a pirate, did karaoke, and owned sex toys (or at least hinted that she did). But the thing that was foremost in his mind was a mystery he wasn’t sure he’d ever solve: did Maggie really grab his arse just so that she could tell Morag that she had, or did she grab it because she wanted to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amadan (AM-uh-dan): Gaelic for fool. And speaking of fools, here's the version of the song that Maggie sang: [Chain of Fools](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tvzw1Cy27lE)


	15. A foul curse is upon me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard has quite the revelation

Richard spent Sunday afternoon fishing with Luke, and when he got home that evening and turned his phone back on, he saw that he had two messages from his scale double, Mark.

_Thought you’d like to see how your makeup artist spent her day._

Attached were two videos of Maggie sparring with Rory. The first was short – she made a mistake early and Rory capitalized on it and forced her to yield with his sword at her throat; and the second was much longer and showed how speed and agility was more than a match for strength and reach. It took quite a while, during which Maggie systematically wore Rory down and finally ended with him on his back with the point of her sword at his chest. Both were incredibly hot. Richard vowed that one day he would find a way to spar with her himself.

On Monday night as he settled down to do a bit of reading before bed, he got a message from Graham. Apparently, Natalie’s video of Maggie’s karaoke performance was making the rounds.

_Damn._

It wasn’t the best voice he’d ever heard and she was clearly untrained, but fuck, it was sexy. Watching someone do something they loved always was, and she very obviously loved to sing and she _was_ good at it. In the end, Richard didn’t get much reading done that night.

It took everything he had the next morning not to mention the karaoke video, but Rory had asked that he wait until he was out of his sister’s reach, so he kept his mouth shut. Once Rory was in the air, however, everything was fair game.

“Did Rory get away okay?” he asked as he sat in her chair on Tuesday night to have his face removed.

“I assume so,” she answered, nodding. “I’ve not heard anything.”

“Good to know…Aretha.”

Maggie sighed as he smirked at her. “Et tu, Oakenbrute?”

“Oakenbrute – I like that one. Very Shakespearean,” he said with a grin. “That may be my favorite so far.” She didn’t bother to answer him – not that he expected her to. “You know, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied distractedly, as she gathered what she’d need to take off his prosthetics.

“I was wondering, are there any pictures of Mad Mairead the pirate queen? I’d really _love_ to see her.”

That came out a little more lewdly than he’d intended, but fortunately, he was able to compose himself before she whipped her head around to look at him. _Thank god I’m an actor._

“Rory is so very, very dead.” Richard laughed when she rolled her eyes. “There’s a website. If you _really_ want to see, I can send you the link.”

“Please do.”

“Just do me a favor, yeah? Don’t tell anyone else. Please. The karaoke thing is bad enough – I don’t need that stuff being shared around, too.”

“Maggie, I solemnly swear that I will keep it all to myself.” _Because I have a feeling that I don’t really want too many others to see you like that._

That time, he closed his eyes to keep from giving his feelings away, and they were both silent as she worked on him. When she was done, she stretched her back and sighed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. And I wish Rory could have stayed longer…even if I do want to kill him,” she added with a small smile.

“After seeing the two of you on Saturday night, I’m surprised you didn’t already. Do you always fight like that?”

“Often enough - always have. I may have come by my nickname honestly, but I’m not the only Drummond with a temper,” she smiled. “You’re probably wondering what it was all about.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, but I would never ask.”

“Well, you _were_ almost a witness to murder…” she shrugged. “Rory and his girlfriend have been together…let’s see…fifteen years now, living together for twelve, and well, her clock is ticking and she wants to start a family. He does too, but the fly in the ointment is that she really would prefer to do things in a fairly traditional order.”

“She wants to get married and he doesn’t.”

“Aye. I’m one of those people who doesn’t think marriage is some kind of ultimate goal – plenty of people get married and say the words and don’t really mean them, and there are those who commit to someone else without the piece of paper, but I get her point. She wants her name to be the same as her bairns’, and with them, well, they’re already “married” in all but name so what’s the big deal about making it official? The joke was on me, of course, because the big dumb bastard already bought her a ring and he just let me have a go at him so he could argue back,” she chuckled fondly.

Richard laughed. “He risked death just to argue with you?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” she said laughing with him, but then her laughter died. “Um…I wanted to…well, thank you for not getting me fired.” She turned away and busied herself, obviously so she didn’t have to look at him. _Fired?_

“Pardon?”

“For what I did Saturday night.” She still wasn’t looking at him, but he could tell she was blushing.

“Aretha, I already told you you didn’t have anything to apologize for.”

She looked at him sideways. “I think we _both_ know that’s not true.”

He grinned. “Oh. So you _do_ remember?”

“Yes,” she said blushed crimson before turning away. “And there is absolutely no way for me to apologize enough, and I swear to you I’m not just saying that because you have a very good case for sexual harassment against me and I just-“

“Maggie, relax, please. Hey,” he said as he slid a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. This would be the moment. They were alone in the trailer (which is likely why she brought this up in the first place), and this would be the moment just to come out with it – tell her he didn’t mind, tell her he liked it, tell her he wished she’d do it again right there and then, tell her how much he wanted her – but he didn’t. He started to, but something stopped him. “I thought it was funny,” he simply said as he dropped his hand. “It was just research for Morag, right?”

She laughed, a little shakily. “Absolutely.” _What did I expect her to say?_

“Besides, do you really expect me to break in a new makeup person this late? Why should _I_ be punished because you can’t keep your hands off my – how did you put it – “firm, round” arse?”

She turned beet red and her hands flew to her face. “I said that out loud?”

Richard roared with laughter. “Oh yeah, you did. But my point, May-reed, is that you have a ridiculous amount of job security. You have _nothing_ to worry about, okay?”

She nodded with her face still in her hands. Much though he enjoyed getting her flustered, he took pity on her and didn’t embarrass her further. He said good night and left. After giving her a suitable amount of time to get home, he texted her.

_Link, please?_

He had a feeling that if he didn’t badger her, she’d conveniently “forget” to send him the link to the pirate pictures and he wasn’t letting her off the hook for that. He’d been dying to see them since Rory told him about them and he’d waited long enough, thank you. The link was to the clan’s website, and after grabbing something to eat, he settled himself in to surf the pictures. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but Maggie seemed to have a knack for conveniently standing behind someone when the shutter clicked, but he did find pictures of her in chain mail, dressed as a villager, laughing with someone he assumed _had_ to be Morag (who looked exactly as he’d pictured her – laughing and happy and just the slightest bit chubby), on horseback…and then there was Mad Mairead.

_Holy god._

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting – something slightly _Pirates of the Caribbean_ -esque, he supposed – but the reality was just…damn. She looked dark and dangerous and there was a hell of a lot of leather – black thigh-high boots over wine-colored leggings that laced, a rapier on her hip, a black off-the-shoulder peasant blouse under a very tight black leather corset that did amazing things for the cleavage that strained the laces that he longed to untie (with his teeth), and black leather gloves.

_God damn._

He shifted and had to make some adjustments because his pants had become uncomfortably tight. The ensemble itself was stunning, but it was the way she wore it that really grabbed him. She owned it – like she was born for it and then poured into it – and that was so fucking sexy he thought he might explode.

He felt he should text her and thank her for the link, but everything he wanted to say was…hell, if she thought grabbing his arse was sexual harassment, he was really in trouble. He wrote at least three messages that he deleted before coming up with one he felt was benign enough.

_It’s a good look for you. Very fierce. See you tomorrow, matey. Arr._

_If you start talking like a pirate in the chair tomorrow, you’ll beg to walk the plank before I’m done with you, you scurvy cur._

He nearly moaned out loud at her response. He knew she meant it as a humorous threat, but in his current frame of mind, it was practically foreplay. It evoked images of her holding him at sword point, maybe lashing him to the mast and having her way with him. He’d be okay with that. He imagined how she’d look brandishing that sword, her curvy body testing the strength of the laces of her corset…

Fuck. This wanking before bed thing was getting old – he was pretty sure he hadn’t even done it that often when he was in his teens. Still, it was probably better than embarrassing himself by driving over to Maggie’s place and begging her to sleep with him. And it sure as hell never took very long. Just once, though, he wanted to do it without thinking of Maggie. He’d tried to think of someone else, but somehow, it always came back to her. Dammit.

There was the smallest, most masochistic part of him that dearly wanted to start talking like a pirate when he sat in her chair the next day, just to see what she’d do; but there was a much bigger, more prudent part of him that knew it wasn’t the threat of her anger that kept him from doing it. It was the risk that he’d blush or drool or otherwise completely embarrass himself if he did, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and went about his business, and the rest of the week passed without incident - until Friday morning when Maggie gave him the scare of his life.

He’d asked her to meet him a half hour early so he’d have a bit of extra time to prepare for the day’s shooting. He’d noticed her car on the way in and knew she’d be waiting for him in the prosthetics truck. He never expected to find her curled up in a ball on the floor. Her eyes were shut and she wasn’t moving.

“Jesus, Maggie, are you all right?” _Oh god, please be okay._

Her eyes popped open and she waved him off and relief washed over him. “Headache,” she said as she got up off the floor gingerly. “Have a seat.” His eyes narrowed as he tried to assess the situation. “What? I’m fine. It’s just a headache.”

_The hell it is._ “Do you have a clean craft knife?”

“Uh…yeah,” she said while he rummaged in his bag for the bottle he knew was at the bottom somewhere. “Here.”

He took it and used it to split a pill on her counter. “Here you go,” he said as he handed it to her with a bottle of water.

“What’s this?”

“A muscle relaxer – or half of one, anyway. It should take the edge off without knocking you out.”

“A muscle relaxer? Richard, I said I have a headache.”

“I know what you _said_. But do you think you’re the first woman I’ve ever known? In my experience, when a woman goes fetal and has that look on her face, she needs a muscle relaxer. Well, a muscle relaxer, a pair of sweatpants, a heat pad, chocolate, hot tea, a blanket, and chick flicks, but you don’t have time for all of that right now.”

“I don’t watch chick flicks,” she frowned.

_Still sticking with that, eh?_ “Mm, so you’ve said. The rest is true, though, isn’t it? Take it, Maggs. Go on.”

Miraculously, she did as she was told. “Why don’t you sit so we can get started?”

“You can give it some time to work.”

She shook her head. “I can manage, and you wanted to start early, so sit.”

She hadn’t fought him on the pill, so he didn’t fight her on that. He sat and she got to work and he could tell she gradually started to move more easily. At lunch, he offered the other half, and she surprised him again by taking it without fuss and he knew she must have felt absolutely dreadful. Due to a technical problem with the camera system, they were quitting early and he was relieved for her that she’d get to go home. She didn’t look like she could have stayed on her feet much longer, poor girl. She looked like she needed someone to pamper her. To that end, he was waiting for her in the car park. More specifically, he was leaning on her car to keep her from getting in. He knew she’d not readily agree to what he had planned and he wasn’t letting her leave until she gave in.

“Italian, Thai, Chinese, or Indian?”

“I…what?”

“Italian, Thai, Chinese, or Indian,” he repeated.

“It’s not Sunday.”

He smiled. “Your folks won’t let you have a friend over on a school night?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Thanks for the offer, bu-“

_So damn stubborn._ “Maggie, you still have to eat.”

“I know, but really, how many early nights do we get? Go enjoy yours.”

“See, the thing is, I have to eat too, so does it really matter if I do it at my place or yours? And if I do it at yours, I can make sure _you_ eat. And I can even make you hot tea. I am English, after all,” he added with what he hoped was a persuasive smile.

“It’s really nice of you, but I’ll be fi-“

_Oh, for the love of…_ He heaved an enormous sigh and looked skyward. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“I-“

“Last week, you took ibuprofen to Adam during a reset because you said he “looked” like he had a headache when he’d only just realized he did. You helped work a Charlie horse out of Natalie’s leg. You cover for other makeup people for everything from dentist’s appointments to the flu. You helped haul cable two days ago, and God knows how many times you’ve helped me, up to and including taking me in drunk in the middle of the night. You take care of everyone around you, all the time. Well, who takes care of _you_ , Maggie? Huh? Who takes care of _you_?”

That he’d hit a nerve was obvious. That he’d managed to find a deeply buried, extremely raw one was borne out by the tears she couldn’t stop from springing to her eyes before she could look away. He reached out to touch her but stopped and watched, fascinated, as she squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and looked him dead in the eye and said, “ _I_ do,” with more bravado and defiance than he’d seen in one person in his life.

“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “Tonight, you let me take care of you. Please, Maggie.” _God, make her let me. Just once._

He could practically see her internal debate, and he was convinced she was going to argue some more, but in the end, she merely nodded.

“Good. Now, are you going to choose between Italian, Chinese, Indian, or Thai, or am I going to go to all four and show up with way more food than any two people can eat in a week? Because I swear to you, Maggie, I will do that.” He half hoped she _wouldn’t_ choose just so he could follow through and make a point.

She rolled her eyes as she gave in. “Chinese, please.”

“Thank you. Now, you go home and have a bath or whatever it is that you do in these situations and I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Yes, sir, Oaken…something.”

“Oaken _something_? That’s the best you can do?”

“Well, I don’t feel well, do I?”

Richard laughed and finally stood aside so she could get in her car. He had a chat with Pete about the things they’d be shooting the next day, then called their favorite Chinese place and picked up the order on the way to Maggie’s.

“Oakenführer,” she said when she met him at the door.

“Pardon?”

“Oakenführer. It’s what I should have called you earlier.”

He laughed. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“When I was starting my car. I’d have texted you, but I really just wanted to come home. What do we need? Bowls? Plates?”

“Shoo,” he answered and she frowned. “Before you say anything, yes, I know you’re capable and you’re not an invalid, blah, blah, blah. But I also know you could go sit your adorable little arse on the couch and let me get the kettle on and bring out the food.” Her frown deepened. “I’m sorry, was that sexual harassment? You’re not going to get me fired, are you?” He winked and grinned.

“No, it wasn’t sexual harassment, it was you making fun of me.”

“Yes, it was. Now, shoo.”

She wasn’t happy about it, but she went. He made a pot of tea, got out the plates and utensils they’d need, split another pill for her, and then put the food into proper bowls for a change, and took it all through to the sitting room.

“We usually eat out of the containers.”

“Hey, I said I was going to take care of you tonight and I plan to do it right, if you don’t mind. Now, did you have any wine when you came home?” She shook her head. “Good,” he said as he poured her a cup of tea. “It means you can have this.” He handed her the pill, which she took without argument. “So do you want to start with steamed dumplings, chicken and water chestnuts, or shrimp mei fun?”

“Chicken, please.”

Richard didn’t expect her to eat very much, but he figured anything was better than the nothing she’d likely have had if she had been alone; but whether it was the muscle relaxer or the tea or just being home early or some combination thereof, she was more or less her normal self, and even fought him (successfully) for the last dumpling. She didn’t, however, protest when he announced he was going to put the leftovers away and make another pot of tea. He’d call that a win.

“So I was looking through the rest of the pictures on your clan’s website,” he said when he went back into the sitting room. “What was with the short hair? You practically shaved your head. Was it some other persona?”

“No. It, um, was just a phase. Hey, it’s still early. You want to watch a movie?” she asked as he handed her a mug of tea

“Sure. But…how about one from the green folder?” He hadn’t planned to ask that and he had no real idea why he did. It was probably because she’d pointedly told him – yet again – that she didn’t watch chick flicks just that morning.

She froze with the cup halfway to her mouth. “No, not the green folder. That’s not movies.”

“What is it, then?”

“Just, um…makeup tutorials and research-y things and such. Very dry and boring, I’m afraid,” she said and buried her nose in her tea cup.

“Or is it your collection of chick flicks – which you don’t watch?” _Dammit woman, stop lying to me._

Her eyes flew up to meet his, but she immediately dropped them again and did her best to shrink into the couch. “I, um…how long have you known and why were you snooping?”

“Since the first night I ate dinner here, when you went out to get wine. Yes, before you fed me that crap about tutorials,” he said in answer to her surprised look. “And I didn’t really think it was snooping. Both of the folders were on the shelf next to the telly, and I was just curious about what kind of films you were into.”

“Oh,” she said as she examined the dregs in her cup.

“What’s the big deal, Maggie? Are you embarrassed? Did you think I’d laugh? Help me out here.” He really wasn’t angry, he just didn’t understand her sometimes.

“I’m not embarrassed, no.”

“Then why? Even today you said, “I don’t watch chick flicks.” Why?”

“Can we please just drop this? I’m sorry I lied to you, I really am, but please. Just let it go,” she said with an edge that made something inside him snap.

“No. I want to know why,” he answered in kind. “I want to know why, every time I want to do something for you, you fight me on it. I want to know why you feel like, after all this time, you have to lie to me over something so stupid.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he regretted it.

“It’s not ‘stupid’ to me, okay? Look, if you absolutely _must_ know, here you go: I went out with a guy whom I _thought_ liked watching that stuff. He’d suggest it and we’d get under a blanket and cuddle and all of that happy shite, but it was all a lie. One day, I heard him talking to his mate down the pub and telling him all about this sure-fire way to get sex whenever he wanted it: just throw in a chick flick and “suffer” through some snuggling and then I’d be so grateful. And hey, apparently, there was an added bonus! If it was a tear-jerker, I’d “almost always” blow him afterward. Never mind that he could have just asked me and I’d have been more than happy to accommodate him, he had to manipulate me. So from then on, after I kicked him to the fucking curb, I started watching what I wanted to watch when I wanted to watch it _by myself_. Okay? Are you happy now?”

She left him sitting there and ran into the kitchen. Fucking hell. She’d never once shared anything about herself like that with him. And there he sat, fool enough to think she’d been lying because she was embarrassed, or thought of them as her guilty pleasure or something equally trivial. He would never have imagined anything close to the truth.

He figured he’d give her a few minutes and then go fall all over himself apologizing. In the meantime, he would pick a movie which, if she would let him, he’d stay and watch with her - but he would pick from the safe folder. He set everything up and went out to the kitchen to find her sitting on the counter eating ice cream straight from the container.

“Maggie, I-“

“Don’t,” she said as she held up a hand. “It’s okay, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have flipped out like that. Hormones,” she added and rolled her eyes. “And… well, I don’t usually tell people personal stuff like that.”

_Yeah, no kidding. And now you probably never will again._ “I’m sorry I pushed.”

“Don’t be. To be honest, I don’t know why, if you knew from the beginning that I was lying, you didn’t demand an explanation sooner. I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid. Grab a spoon if you want some.” She held up the ice cream.

“It’s not stupid,” he said as he got a spoon from the drawer and leaned against the counter next to her.

“No, it is,” she replied as she handed him the container. “Well, the reason behind it isn’t maybe so stupid, but lying about it is and I’m sorry for that. I don’t need you to understand, because frankly, I don’t think _I_ really understand why I do what I do sometimes, but I need you to respect it.”

He handed the ice cream back to her. “I can do that. I don’t need to understand to respect someone’s wishes, but I really wish you knew by now that you can tell me anything. Your secrets are safe with me, Maggie.” _You’re safe with me, Maggie._

She hesitated for just a split second and he wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes before she merely said, “thank you. Do you want more?” He shook his head so she hopped down off the counter and put the ice cream back in the freezer. “You’re still welcome to stay and watch a movie if you want, but…do you think you could pick out of the blue folder?” She bit her lip waiting for an answer, as if she were afraid he’d say no.

“I already put _Star Trek_ in your laptop and hooked it up to the telly,” he said.

Before he even knew what she was doing, she’d closed the distance between them and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she said as he hugged her back.

He could have stood like that with her in his arms and his head resting on top of hers forever. Instead, he chuckled and made a joke. “Hormones again? Or is this more sexual harassment?”

He’d known she would, but he was still disappointed when she pulled away. “Hormones, definitely. Sorry. So… _Star Trek_?”

She led the way back out to the sitting room and sat sideways on her end of the couch with her feet on the middle cushion. He started the film and took up his spot at the other end and they watched the movie in companionable silence. When it was over, he turned to her, and…

_Oh._

_Oh no._

At some point, she had fallen asleep, her head to the side and her lips parted slightly with her face completely relaxed. She had never looked more lovely and to his absolute horror he realized he didn’t want her.

He _needed_ her.

He was overwhelmed with the longing to lie next to her, to pull her close, to feel the weight of her head on his chest and the warmth of her body along the length of his, to hold her while she slept and guard her dreams.

He sat there, hand over his mouth, and watched her chest rise and fall and a small smile playing over her face, afraid to move and with no earthly clue what he was supposed to do next. How long he sat like that, he had no idea. Finally, with shaking hands, he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and rose to cover her with it, being careful not to touch her because he was afraid if he started that he would never stop. As silently as he could, he gathered the remaining dishes and took them to the kitchen.

He would not think. He refused to feel. He would do the dishes and clean the kitchen and that’s exactly what he did. He left the other half of the pill he’d given her earlier on the counter along with a note: “Take it if you need it. Please? Don’t be stubborn. R.” When he was finished, he went back out to check on her – scared she’d be awake and take one look at him and _know_ , but she was still asleep and had stretched out and burrowed down under the blanket. Part of him wanted to stand there all night and watch her, but he’d begun the night by telling her he’d take care of her and he knew that the best way for him to do that was to leave. He checked her phone to make sure the alarm was set, then quietly locked the door behind him and set off for home.

It was only once he was there, alone, in the dark and curled up in bed with an extra pillow held tightly to his chest, that he allowed himself to admit it. He had fallen in love with Mairead Drummond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of those who enjoyed meeting Maggie's brother, Rory, in the last chapter, I've written a wee drabble about him. It's called: [Phone Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3942385).
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading. :-)


	16. Inescapable conclusions

To say that Richard slept fitfully that night would be a gross understatement. It was far more accurate to say that he barely slept at all.

_What the hell am I supposed to do now?_

It had been bad enough merely wanting her. He hadn’t _completely_ ruled out doing anything about that, but he certainly couldn’t just fuck her now that he knew how he truly felt. Surely this would be infinitely more excruciating. And even if he could, somehow, find the courage to share his feelings (and that had never been one of his strengths), what then? Was it even possible she could feel the same? Obviously, she _cared_ for him - perhaps even more than she’d admit, but could she _love_ him? And if she did, what of it? There were only two or three months left in production. After that, who knew where their paths would lead, and there was one thing Richard knew with more certainty than he knew almost anything else: distance was death to a relationship. He’d learned that particular lesson the hard way, and sadly, more than once; so what was the point of starting something that would only end so quickly?

_Why the hell have I been so blind?_

He should have seen what was happening. How could he not? From the moment they had started spending time together socially, it should have been obvious. The first time he had walked into her flat there was a comfort level with her that he’d rarely achieved with anyone else – even his closest friends and some of his family. How could he not have seen?

_If I’d realized what was happening, I could have fought it._

But really, was that even true? Probably the only way to do that would have been to limit his exposure to her – to stop spending time with her outside of work, and where would he be now if he had? Those hours eating and talking and laughing and debating and watching movies together – the very things that had made him fall in love with her – had been his refuge, his break from the demands of the role and filming, and if he had denied himself that… _God, I don’t even want to think about it._ She had become important and necessary to him so quickly that he could no longer remember a time when she wasn’t. The bottom line was that he had needed her and their relationship, so there was nothing he could have done differently had he known what was happening. He may have been too stupid to see it for what it was, but he was smart enough to know he couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. He had been doomed from the start.

_But now that I know how I feel, can I carry on and pretend I don’t?_

If he wasn’t going to tell her how he felt about her, he had two choices: carry on as if nothing was different, or stop seeing her (outside of work, that is) immediately. Neither held any appeal. Richard knew he could debate it for hours and still not come up with a palatable solution, and he had his standard 4:30 am makeup call.

_Dammit. I cannot let this interfere. I have a job to do and I can’t afford to let how I feel about Maggie get in the way._

Richard prided himself on his ability to focus. That single-mindedness about his work had cost him more than one relationship, but he was determined that his personal life (whatever there was of it) would not impede him professionally. Simply put, it didn’t matter what he felt for Maggie because he couldn’t and wouldn’t let it.

_But I love her._

He continued on like that, going back and forth and coming to no conclusions, and must have drifted off at some point because all too soon his alarm went off. As he showered, he was torn between the dread of having to see and act normal around Maggie, and the euphoria derived from being near someone he loved.

_This couldn’t have come at a worse time._

He marveled at the inevitability of it all. He was alone at the bottom of the world undertaking something he wasn’t fully sure he was ready for, and she had breezed into his life and set up shop like she belonged there. And God knew he was lonely.

He’d had his share of relationships, of course – some that could be classified as long-term and some rather less so – but he’d never managed to find anyone where he really felt things click, and he’d more or less accepted that maybe he was just one of those people who would never truly connect with someone like that.

Most of the time, he didn’t really mind. He had always at least made _friends_ easily enough and never lacked for people to surround himself with, and he was blessed with the energy always to have something to do and the inner peace to be able to be just as content with doing nothing. He had managed to carve himself a good living being able to do what he liked and get paid for it. _If I never find The One, there are worse things, right?_ So it was that after a particularly fraught and frustrating relationship, he made the mostly sub-conscious decision not to really bother looking anymore.

And then he had walked into that bloody workshop and she’d spread goo all over his face and his entire world shifted.

_Dammit, why her? Why now?_

Why her? Was that really a question? She was smart, warm, caring, witty, sexy as hell, and giving. She asked nothing of him other than friendship and respect, and allowed him the freedom to be himself, and she had the seemingly effortless ability to understand him.

_And again, why the hell have I been so blind?_

He told himself it was because he hadn’t been looking, and that, quite possibly, there had been a dash of denial mixed in. But none of that mattered, he reflected as he walked across Stone Street, because he had a job to finish and God help him, that would come first.

His legs felt like lead as he climbed the steps into the prosthetics truck.

Maggie was waiting for him, of course. In all this time, he’d only managed to beat her twice.

“Morning,” she greeted him with a smile. “Music?”

“Hey,” he replied as he sat. “No, thanks, not this morning. You’re feeling better?”

“Much,” she grinned. “Before we start, I just wanted to say…well, thank you for last night. It was…really quite nice having someone pamper me a bit.” She gave him a small, shy smile and even blushed a little as if she were embarrassed at making such a confession. “And I’m sorry for falling asleep, but bless you for cleaning up, too.”

Good lord. He hadn’t really even done anything. Certainly not as much as he’d have liked, but he’d felt he was lucky she’d allowed him to do what he did. How could she sound so bloody grateful for so little?

“I’d have done the dishes anyway, even had you been awake. Please,” he said in answer to the scowl she gave him. “I’d have won that argument easily. You were pharmaceutically impaired. I could have taken you.”

Her eyes twinkled just barely noticeably at that last comment. “You go on thinking that,” she said with a wink as she got to work.

_God dammit. Does she really have no clue what she does to me_? He closed his eyes as she worked and forced himself to think about what they’d be shooting that day. It was hard, though. Maggie smelled even more strongly of peppermint than she normally did and he longed to taste it. _Breathe through your mouth and focus, you besotted fool._

Thorin. Gold sickness. Smaug. Fear. Doubt. Anger. More doubt. Self-doubt. Always doubt. Responsibilities closing around him like a fist. Greed. Distrust. Doubt, doubt, doubt…

She woke him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder and an apologetic tone. “Richard,” she said softly. “You’re done here.”

He rose with a curt nod and went off to wardrobe, steeling himself to work harder to block distractions once he was on set. That turned out to be unnecessary, as this was apparently one of Maggie’s days in the workshop. He honestly couldn’t decide if he was relieved about that or not. It certainly made his job easier, but he missed her presence. He even missed her fussing over his face.

_Jesus Christ, am I in deep._

As he walked back into the prosthetics truck at the end of a very long day, he thought maybe he’d be even further spared torture and Maggie would either still be in the workshop or occupied with someone else. He couldn’t be that lucky, of course, as she was not only there, but her chair was open as well.

“Long day? You look tired,” she said as she began peeling off his nose. _Well yes, because I had little to no sleep last night after realizing I’m head over ears in love with you._ He nodded. “I was thinking about making pasta sauce again tomorrow. Not as much as last time, obviously,” she said with a laugh. “Are you interested?”

Here it was. Decision time. Richard really did not want to cut himself off from her, but there was only so much stiff-upper-lipping even an Englishman such as himself could do. _Keep calm and carry on, my arse._

“Um, it sounds great, but…I think…maybe I’m coming down with something and I could do with a bit of a lie-in. I think I’ll just stick close to home tomorrow.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh no, you poor lamb,” she said and the hand she laid on his newly-freed forehead nearly unmanned him. “How about I make you some soup? I could bring it over and you wouldn’t even have to get out of your pajamas.”

_Well, of COURSE she wants to take care of me. Nice going, idiot._ “No. Thank you for the offer, but if I’m contagious, it wouldn’t do for you to be around me. I’ll be fine. I’ll open a tin.”

Clearly unconvinced, she relented anyway. “You’ll call me if you change your mind?” He nodded. “You promise?” He nodded again. “Feel better, Oakengerm,” she said with a small smile.

He thanked her and made himself leave the truck at as calm a pace as he could, when what he wanted most was to run in order to keep himself from falling to his knees and declaring his feelings for her like the lovesick swain he knew he was.

_I’m pathetic._

Even more pathetic was walking into his quiet, empty flat on a Saturday night without being able to look forward to Sunday night dinner. He was thankful he was so tired, because he figured he at least had a shot at falling asleep without undue stewing about circumstances he couldn’t control. It did work out that way, but not before wishing he could be falling asleep with her in his arms…

_He could smell her hair, what with her head tucked just underneath his chin the way it was. She was soft and nestled into him perfectly, their legs tangled together and their arms around each other. As she slept, she snuggled deeper into his chest as if it were physically possible for her to get any closer to him, her skin warm against his. He lay there, his fingers lazily tracing circles across her bare back, until he felt her stir. She stretched and smiled sleepily up at him._

_“I love you.”_

_“I love you, too, Mairead,” he said as he bent his head toward hers for a kiss…_

…and woke before their lips touched.

_Fucking hell._ He must have been more tired than he thought, because it was 11 am and he had six texts asking him why he wasn’t at breakfast. He fired off apologies then yawned his way to the kitchen to make coffee and decide what to do with his day.

He had just told everyone that he wasn’t feeling well which effectively nixed his ability to go out anywhere and do anything. He didn’t want to have to explain what would seem to be such a speedy recovery. He made himself some breakfast and set about catching up on email and other small tasks, then eventually settled in to read a script his agent had sent on to him. He got sucked into it, going so far as to make some notes in the margins, and was surprised when he finished it to find it was five o’clock.

_Oh good. It’s just about the time I’d be heading to Maggie’s._

It’s what he wanted, of course. He could just as easily eat dinner and watch a movie by himself as he could with her, but no, dammit. He wanted to do it with her, sat on her couch, the way they always did.

_Why can’t I just rewind and go back to the way things were before I realized how I felt? Why did things have to go and change?_

But did they _really_ change? What, besides the fact that he was now aware he was in love with her, was actually different than before? He didn’t fall in love with her the moment he looked at her sleeping, he just realized he had. In point of fact, nothing had changed but his perception of the situation. He had been just as in love with her the last Sunday they’d spent together as he was in that moment, and he’d survived dinner with her then, so why the hell shouldn’t he do so now? He showered and headed to her place.

“Hey,” he said when she opened the door in surprise. “This is terribly rude of me to show up like this, but I was wondering if maybe you had some of that pasta sauce to spare?”

“Oh. I, um, I didn’t make any. You said you wouldn’t be over so I didn’t bother for just me. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m the one showing up unannounced begging food. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He knew he wasn’t quite succeeding at keeping the disappointment out of his voice.

“What? No, don’t be silly. You’re here now, why don’t you come in? I’ve got some of that lamb stew from the other week in the freezer.” She stood aside so he could walk in.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Would you please get in here, Oakenbeggar? Go on through,” she said when he’d walked in and closed the door behind him. “I’ll just put the stew on to thaw and I’ll be in.”

“Thanks, May-reed,” he said before going through to the sitting room.

She had been watching a movie – _The Matchmaker_ , by the look of it – and had paused when he knocked. And from the looks of her coffee table, she was also working on another project. There were sketches and drawings strewn about of faces and details of faces and designs – for tattoos, maybe? Maggie came out to the sitting room and stopped the DVD.

“You could have finished watching it,” Richard said.

She waved him off. “I’ve seen it enough, it’s no big deal.”

“A movie with Van Morrison music is always a big deal, May-reed.”

“You’ve seen _The Matchmaker_?”

Richard laughed. “Men watch movies like that, too, you know.”

“Not all of them,” she said grimly as she moved to straighten the papers on the coffee table.

“Is he why you won’t cry in front of anyone,” he asked quietly. _Why you won’t cry in front of ME?_

She went still for the briefest of moments and nodded without looking at him. “It’s silly, I know. But once you’ve been hurt…well, I’m not in a hurry to give anyone the same ammunition. So you’re feeling better then?” She wasn’t fooling him with the subject change, and he knew she knew it.

“I am, yes. Turns out all I needed was a decent night’s sleep and a long lie-in.”

“Good,” she smiled. “You _were_ looking a little pale yesterday. I’m glad you were just tired.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You thought I looked pale?”

“Hello,” she laughed. “I’m the one primarily responsible for making you look the same day in and day out. I notice when the makeup has to change.” The microwave beeped and she stood up. “The stew should be thawed. I’ll just put it on to heat and I’ll be back with wine.”

While she was gone, he looked through the sketches on the table and silently stewed. He hated that she’d been hurt. He hated that someone could think so little of her and could violate her trust that way. And he hated that it made her feel that she had to hide part of herself. She deserved better.

“Here you go,” she said when she came out with a glass of wine for each of them. “It shouldn’t take too long to heat, but if you’re hungry, I can find us something to nibble on.”

_Do NOT take that as bait. She doesn’t mean it THAT way._

“No, thanks, I can wait. What are these,” he asked, indicating the sketches. “Not something personal, I hope,” he added with a cringe.

“No, don’t worry,” she laughed. “That’s just decoy stuff so you don’t notice the porn stash hidden under the cushion you’re sitting on.” He was too taken aback to hide his expression and it made her laugh. “I’m kidding! Why would I bother hiding porn? Last time I checked, I was of the age of consent. No, this is for my next project when The Hobbit wraps.” _You hid the rom-coms, but you wouldn’t hide the porn?_

“What’s the project?” It was stupid, but the fact that she already had her next job lined up irritated him.

“It’s a show about the Vikings and we’re supplying fighters for it. I’d have had a shot at a makeup position for principal cast, but they’re in pre-production now and I’m missing all of it, so I’ll have to settle for working on the backgrounds and extras, but they rather generously agreed to look at some of my character ideas, so you never know – I might make an impression.”

“If they’re in pre-production now, when does production start?”

“Pretty much the minute we’ll wrap here. I might have to pull the prosthetics off you on the last day and get on a plane for Ireland immediately after.”

Now that _really_ irritated him. “You’d leave that soon?”

“I go where the work is,” she answered with a shrug.

_Of course you do_. “These are…well, they’re good,” he finally offered with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Thank you,” she said with a grin.

“So you’d go right from here to Ireland? You’d really do that? You won’t go home? What about Lizzie? Won’t it disappoint her?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound as harsh as it did and Maggie’s eyes widened.

“Ireland isn’t New Zealand.” _Yeah, no shit_. “I’ll be able to go home at the weekends, and half the family will be there with me – including Hamish and since Lizzie will be on her holidays, she’ll be able to come over, too. Hell, they might need an adorable village child. I’m going to check on the stew.”

Well, what the hell did he expect? It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know – life would go on for both of them after _The Hobbit_. It was the way their business worked, and in fact, this production was the closest he had ever come to anything resembling permanence. Somehow, though, knowing she’d already lined up her next job hurt a little. It made the end seem so much more tangible.

And it seemed to nail shut the coffin on the possibility of telling her he loved her.

They would have at most two to three months and then it would be over. They would go their separate ways, and that would be it. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more depressed.

Just then, Maggie came back in the sitting room with two heaping bowls of stew and the fantastic crusty bread that she got from some little hole-in-the-wall bakery.

“I have some bad news,” she said as she handed him his bowl and sat.

_Crap. I don’t know if I can handle bad news now._ “What is it?”

“The market was out of the dark chocolate ice cream when I went this morning.”

“No ice cream?” On the one hand, he was relieved. But on the other…

Her mouth twitched. “Oh, did I fail to mention there was good news? I went to another market and found some,” she said with a wink. “I know, I know. I’m the best. You don’t have to tell me.”

“The hell you are.” She had been giggling but then stopped abruptly. “You’re evil – scaring me like that, not the best at all.”

“I could send you home without any, you know,” she said before sticking her tongue out at him.

“You could, but you wouldn’t. You like me too much.” He grinned and looked up at her through his lashes. She blushed.

“Egotistical actor,” she said not quite under her breath and buried her nose in her bowl. He laughed and after a beat, she joined in.

Later, as they watched _Wolverine_ , he wondered how he ever thought he could give up their Sunday nights. They would only have a finite (and rapidly dwindling) number of them, and he knew he had to enjoy them while he had them. They would move on from each other soon enough, and he knew that once they did, he would forget how he felt. Until then, it may be torture, but he’d spend every moment with her that he could. He had no other choice.


	17. The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the Real World timeline here. I know from the DVD extras that Thorin's death was filmed during pickups in the summer of 2013, but for the purposes of this story, it was done during principal photography.
> 
> Also, this is somehow the only chapter that doesn't entirely mirror the timeline of its counterpart in Maggie's story. I'm not really sure how that happened, but it will be rectified in the next chapter and the stories will mirror each other from here on out.

It was a strange thing – how life could imitate a film. As Thorin hurtled headlong toward his fate, Richard felt as though he was hurtling headlong toward life without Maggie. He tried his best not to dwell, and truthfully, the demands of the film ensured that he couldn’t brood too much for too long, but it was always there in the back of his mind. Sunday nights became bittersweet – they were still as enjoyable as they always were, but they were increasingly colored by the dread of them ending.

Richard was not a fan of this unrequited love thing.

He couldn’t remember ever being torn in two to such an extent before. Part of him wished it could be over as soon as possible – best for him to move on and forget, while part of him feared never being able to do so.

That, of course, was ridiculous. He’d been in love before, and he’d gotten over it, and he’d get over this, too. Whatever “this” was, because maybe it wasn’t actually love after all? He knew how the insular nature of a movie set could create a false sense of intimacy, and New Zealand’s isolation would certainly add to that. Maybe it was just a proximity thing?

Or maybe Richard should just accept that he was in love with her and stop trying to talk himself out of it. He had other things he needed to think about.

Filming was happening at a pace that mimicked the speed at which Thorin was descending into madness. And then somehow, they’d reached the climax and the Battle of the Five Armies was upon them. It was counterintuitive that after all those months it could seem to come out of nowhere, but it did.

They worked on it for weeks – countless takes of endless fight sequences. It was exhausting and Richard reckoned he’d probably “killed” every stuntie at least four times over. He went home tired and sore and woke up the same way, and felt every minute of his almost forty-one years in his aching back and creaky knees. He (and every other member of the cast, truth be told) was bruised and battered and beaten. And then the day he thought would never come, the day he simultaneously dreaded and longed for, finally dawned – Thorin was mortally wounded.

Richard would never forget that morning when he dragged his reluctant, spent, and thoroughly despondent arse into that prosthetic truck. It wasn’t to be the last time – he had further work to do, but it was absolutely the hardest.

And Maggie had the gall to be… _cheery?_

Maggie was not a morning person – a fact Richard had known since approximately the second week of filming, and while she tried her best to be as pleasant as possible, he’d never once have described her as cheery. _God dammit, doesn’t she understand what this day means? Could she not show some empathy? What is sh-…Is she HUMMING?_

She WAS humming. And smiling. And she had an energy while prepping that he’d never seen.

“Wow. You’re really thrilled to be shot of me, aren’t you?” He knew he sounded bitter. He didn’t care.

“What? No,” she laughed at him. “Why would I be wanting to be shot of you? Don’t be silly!”

“I’ll stop being silly, if you stop being so bloody gleeful,” he replied, sullenly.

She laughed again. “Sorry, but I get to make you look mortally wounded and that’s one of my favorite parts of this job.”

“Well then, could you at least _pretend_ you’re a _little_ sad? Have some bloody compassion, woman.”

That brought her up short and she stopped in mid-hum and just regarded him as though he were as insane as a certain soon-to-be-deceased Dwarf; but then something in her look changed and softened, and she leaned down so her face was only a couple of inches from his.

“You listen to me, Oakencorpse,” she said quietly. “I promise you that I will have an appropriate emotional response when this film comes out…in what - seven, eight years?” She winked. “But for now, after two-hundred-odd days of making you look exactly the same almost every damn day, you will allow me a little _bloody gleefulness_ while I enjoy my job.”

She smiled and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and got to work, and at least she was a bit more subdued than she hand been. Richard didn’t really begrudge her happiness at exercising a little bit of creativity, but this was hard and he wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the sparkle in hers as she worked on him and tried his best to prepare for the day. He found himself wishing the prosthetics process would take four or ten more hours than usual, but all too soon, Maggie was sending him off to wardrobe.

_God, give me the strength to get through this. Let me do this character justice._

Richard was as prepared as he could possibly be for Thorin’s final scenes. All that remained to be done was to do it, but for as prepared as he was, it shouldn’t have been so hard.

Take after take after take after take – each one slightly different, tweaking a look here or an inflection there, each one more mentally taxing than the last. Thorin wasn’t the first of Richard’s characters to die, but he was certainly the hardest to portray, and Richard was sadder to say goodbye to him than he’d ever been in his life.

There were resets during the course of the day, and time for lunch, but Richard found it easiest not to break character. He wasn’t sure if he could ever get back into Thorin if he did. For that reason, he knew people worked on him and around him, but he didn’t see them. He wasn’t in a studio in Wellington, he was on Ravenhill at the end of his quest – broken and bleeding and dying. He lay there, staring off into a distance only he could see, trying not to think or feel too much when the first thing outside of himself all day filtered into his consciousness. And it damn near broke him.

Maggie leaned over him, touching up his face like she’d done a thousand times before – like she’d done a thousand times _that day_ for all he knew and she… _Oh, god help me._ There were tears in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered.

“Maggie,” he whispered, and as she made eye contact with him, the tears spilled over. She didn’t even try to hide them, and he knew somehow that she didn’t consider even trying. She just looked at him sadly, crying silently and then squeezed his shoulder like she’d done earlier that morning and walked away. Seeing her cry like that left him even more shaken and rattled and lost than he’d already been.

One more take, and Thorin was gone. Richard was unprepared for the wave of grief that washed over him.

He had no recollection of the walk to wardrobe and getting out of costume, nor did he remember having his wig removed or going back to prosthetics or sitting down in Maggie’s chair. He did, however, notice that it wasn’t Maggie who bent toward him to remove Thorin’s face.

“Where’s Maggie?” He barked and Tami jumped.

“She’s still on set,” she answered and hesitated to start peeling off his forehead.

“Get her.” He was a Movie Star Behaving Badly and he didn’t care. Tami did as he asked.

It took a while for Tami to get to the soundstage to take over for Maggie and then for Maggie to get to the truck, and while Richard waited he closed his eyes and fought the waves of grief and pain, but he couldn’t seem to sit still and quickly got up and started pacing through the truck. He’d traveled the length of the trailer at least six times before Maggie blew in, out of breath.

“Richard? What the hell? You scared Tami.”

“I didn’t want _her_ to take off my face,” he said and knew he sounded like a petulant child. “I want _you_ to do it.”

Her eyes went wide for a moment before she nodded. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll get this off of you,” she said quietly as she turned her chair toward him. “Come on, Richard. Sit ye down,” she added when he didn’t move immediately.

He dropped into her chair and she turned it so that it was where she wanted it. As she reached for his face, he reached for her hand.

“Maggie, I-“ He stopped as his voice started to break.

She squeezed his hand. “I know, Richard. But listen to me – this isn’t really the last time. I know they gave you the next couple of days off because you’re not needed for filming, but soon enough you’ll be back in this chair and I’ll be annoying you,” she said with a small smile. “This isn’t the end yet.” He took a long ragged breath and nodded, and she squeezed his hand again. “Now just close your eyes and let me get this off of you.”

He did as he was told and she worked quietly and maybe even more gently than she always did. Richard tried to sit as calmly as he could, but it was hard. He didn’t want to be still – he wanted to get up and walk around, or maybe run, or maybe punch something. He had behaved horribly and knew he owed Tami an apology, and that weighed on him, too. He wanted to fidget. He wanted to scream. He wanted…well, he didn’t know what he wanted but he knew it wasn’t to sit still. He tried to focus on just breathing deeply but there were too many thoughts in his head and focusing on anything was beyond him and he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin and he wasn’t sure he could breathe and just when he thought he couldn’t stand another moment of stillness…

“Hey you,” she said and he opened his eyes as she squeezed his shoulder again. “Why don’t you go have a drink or seven? But take a cab, yeah?”

“And don’t show up at your door in the middle of the night?”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “one of us has to work in the morning, but I think you know by now I wouldn’t leave you standing in the cold.”

“Thanks, May-reed.” He did his best to smile up at her, while he laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed.

She smiled. “Of course. But look, they were about to wrap for the day. Why don’t you get out of here before this trailer fills up?”

He thanked her again and left and headed for the car park. Once there, he got in his car…and had no idea where to go. Home was too quiet and empty, a bar would require socializing. Where did one go when one didn’t want to be alone but didn’t want to be with people? As he sat in his car considering his lack of options, his phone began to buzz with text messages from cast mates who wanted him to have dinner or drinks. He turned off his phone. He reasoned that he needed to get off studio property before someone found him sitting there and dragged him out somewhere, so he started driving. With no destination, he wandered aimlessly about Wellington. He knew he must have been in neighborhoods he’d never seen before, but he had no recollection of them afterward.

As Richard drove, on and on and on, he tried not to think about the weight he felt on his chest or the fact that his lungs felt like they couldn’t expand or the waves of pain that felt like they would drown him.

_This is a fucking fictional character – one I’ve known dies since I was seven years old. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. Why the fuck does it hurt so much?_

He spent the next hour or so still driving and chastising himself for being a fool before finally realizing that he was only putting off going home. He turned his car in the direction of his flat, but he just couldn’t bring himself to go there. Not yet. It was too empty and he couldn’t be alone. He needed someone to talk to him, to tell him it was all right, to make him feel a little less lonely even for a few minutes.

There was only one person who could do that.

Despite Maggie’s assurance that she wouldn’t leave him out in the cold, Richard wasn’t sure what her response would be when he knocked on her door. When she opened it, he drew breath to explain or apologize or something, but his voice failed him. Somehow, miraculously, Maggie seemed to understand. She took a step back from the door and held her arms out for him and without hesitation, he stepped into them.

And in that moment, Richard was home.

He wrapped his arms around her as she wrapped hers around him and he buried his face in her hair; and the pain and grief were still there but they’d lost their power to overwhelm him and the knot in his chest untied itself and he could breathe again. As long as he could stand there holding her like that, he could breathe.

“Oh Maggie, I’m sorry. I know you have to get up tomorrow morning and I shouldn’t be h-“

“Shhhh,” she said as she gently stroked his hair and continued to hold him tight. “It’s okay, Richard. I loved him, too.”

“It’s so stupid. I knew this day would come and I-“

She pulled back enough so she could look him in the eye. “It is NOT stupid. Not even a little, okay, so stop that.”

“I should go,” he said and made no effort to let her go.

“Do you _want_ to go?”

He should say yes, shouldn’t he? Say _yes, and thank you for the hug, but I must be going, but…_

“No.”

She gave him a small smile. “Then come through,” she said and pulled away from him but only so that she could take his hand.

He let her lead him into the sitting room where she gently pushed him down onto his spot on the couch; but instead of taking up her usual place at the other end, she sat down next to him. When he buried his face in his hands, she slid an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said softly, “but you can if you want to.”

“I just…” he said on a long sigh. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

She didn’t say anything. She just sat with her head on his shoulder and one hand on his thigh while the other lightly rubbed his back. Richard felt the pain inside him retreat to a safe distance…one that was manageable, somehow. He didn’t speak anymore – there didn’t seem to be a need. He just sat with his head in his hands, concentrating on breathing, and letting her comfort him.

How long they sat there, he had no idea. He’d have been content to sit like that all night, but his stomach rumbled and broke the silence.

“You need to eat.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to.”

“Richard, you’re obviously hungry. The Thai place is still open. Let me run out and get you something,” she said and made to stand up.

He grabbed her arm and clung to it. “No. Please don’t leave. Please, Maggie.” He knew he sounded like he was begging – because he was.

It was obvious she didn’t want to relent, but then her eyes widened as she got an idea. “Okay, let me just go to the kitchen then. I think I do have something for you.”

“No, Maggie, you really don’t have to. I’m not h-“

“I’ll just be a minute,” she called back to him.

He had the most bizarre urge to follow her. He felt as though all the grief would come flooding back if he let her get too far out of his sight for too long. While he debated whether to stay put or not, Maggie came back with a spoon, a container dark chocolate ice cream, and a bottle of wine.

“Et voilà. Dinner is served,” she said as she laid it out for him on the coffee table.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. What’s the point of being a grown-up if there aren’t any perks? Bad day at the office? Wine and ice cream for dinner,” she said with an encouraging grin.

He’d have had to admit that the idea wasn’t without merit, but, “I’m not sure…”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll get you started.” She raised the wine bottle to her lips and took a long pull then handed it to him and he did the same. “Ice cream straight out of the carton always tastes better.”

“Enabler,” he said with a short, gruff laugh, but he picked up the spoon and ice cream and tucked in.

Over half the container and what had to be three glasses-worth of wine later, he did feel better. Or at least less physically empty. Richard offered to share the ice cream, but she declined.

“I had the end of another pint for dinner myself earlier.” She shook her head when he offered her the bottle. “I get to sleep in a whole half hour later than usual, but I do still work in the morning.”

He ate and drank a bit more, before deciding he was done. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “I’m pretty sure I told you once there’d be ice cream in my freezer for whenever you wanted it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the ice cream, Maggs.”

She smiled again. “I know. You’re welcome. More?” He shook his head. “I’ll just go pop this back in the freezer then,” she said as she picked up the remnants of his impromptu dinner and went back to the kitchen.

While she was gone, he took notice of the two large packing boxes in the middle of the room. He was so miserable earlier, there could have been a silverback gorilla sitting there and he’d not have noticed. Maggie came back in and sat down.

“What are the boxes for?”

“Oh, those? I’ve started packing some things up to ship home. It’s just non-essential stuff – summer clothes and the like. But everything I pack up now won’t have to be done later.”

_Packing? To ship home? Already? Christ! The corpse isn’t even cold yet and she’s getting ready to leave? God, she can’t wait to get out of here, can she? As soon as this is all over, she’ll be gone like she hadn’t ever been here. I need to get out of here. Now._

“You have an early morning, I’ll let you be.” He stood up and the room spun a bit. _Damn. Too much wine, too fast._

“Whoa there,” she said as she stood and steadied him. “You just drank almost three-quarters of a bottle of wine. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“I’ll get a cab.”

“Don’t be silly. You slept here before, you can do it again.”

“No, Maggie. Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’ll call a cab and I’ll wait outside.”

“The hell you will.”

“Do you think you can stop me?” he asked as he loomed over her.

She smiled a wholly evil smile up at him. “Yes, Richard, I do,” she said softly…and promptly pushed him back down on the couch.

“That’s not fair – I wasn’t ready.”

“I didn’t even have to tap you twice, you giant doofus. Readiness had nothing to do with it. Now, give me your hand and I’ll help you up again.” He did and she pulled him up. “Now, come on.”

“Maggie, really, please…”

“Oh, you’re really adorable when you think I’m negotiating,” she said in exactly the same way as he once said to her, while pulling him into the bedroom. She pointed to the bed after she grabbed one of her pillows. “Go on. In you get.”

“Maggs, I..." he began, intending to protest further because he wanted to get away and not think about those bloody packing boxes, but then his resolve crumbled. "Will you sit with me again?” _Please just stay with me. I know I’m pathetic for asking, but oh god, please._

She let out the barest of sighs. “All right, but I have one request this time: I don’t know where those jeans of yours have been but I won’t feel like changing the sheets tomorrow after work, so take them off, please.”

“I…um…” _She didn’t really just say that, did she?_

“Oh for the love of…are you wearing pants under there?”

_Jesus Christ, she’s pointing at my crotch_. “Um, yes.”

“Then I would see less than if I watched _Spooks_ , wouldn’t I? But I will spare your dignity and turn around until you’re in bed.” She did so and he geared down and slid under the covers. He didn’t know why, but the thought of her seeing his naked bum in _Spooks_ was suddenly embarrassing. “Okay, roll over,” she said and laid down next to him when he complied.

_Oh god, is she…?_

She slid her arm over him and spooned him. She wasn’t really big enough to do it properly, but she fitted herself against his back as best as she could.

_No woman has ever tried to hold me like this. Not once. Not ever._

With as big as he was, he was always the one who did the spooning – even with the taller women he’d been with. This was very new for him…and very welcome. She was comfort. She was peace. She understood. Neither of them spoke. He reached for the hand she had around him and laced his fingers with hers and let himself relax and drift off…

He woke sometime later, in that blind panic that happens when you forget where you were when you fell asleep. She was still curled up next to him – he had fallen asleep thinking she’d get up and leave once he was out – and he felt her warmth and listened to her breathing before falling back to sleep.

The next time he woke, she was gone and the bed felt empty.

She’d left a note by the coffee maker: H _elp yourself to anything you find. You’re free to stay as long as you like, but it’s supposed to be a gorgeous day and I think if you get out and enjoy it, you’ll feel better. Just please lock up when you go. Hell, go skiing – I won’t tell. But PLEASE be careful and remember: I can cover bruises, but cuts, scrapes, and scars are harder to disguise. :-)_

For maybe the thousandth time, Richard wondered how he’d ever survive without Maggie and dreaded how rapidly the day was coming where he’d be forced to find out.


	18. Never can say goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, my beta and I both cried when we proofed this version, too.
> 
> They get married, they get married, they get married, they get married, they get married...

Once again, Richard found himself in the position of wanting desperately to find a way to thank Maggie and knowing she wouldn’t want him to. He knew she was just being herself but what she didn’t understand was how big a thing that was to him. He appreciated her friendship, he appreciated her caring, and he wanted to do something to show her that – and he knew it couldn’t be anything close to what he wanted to do or else she’d protest.

Richard wanted to take care of her the way she’d taken care of him. He thought about her and how early she’d gotten up to go work while he lay in her bed like a slug, how late it would be before she got home, and how tired she’d likely be. Hanging about and cooking for her would likely give her a coronary, but maybe he could at least get some dinner in for her to heat. It wasn’t much as far as he was concerned, but it was something.

He made himself some coffee and helped himself to eggs and toast, and then got ready to go fetch her some food. The only problem was that he didn’t want to leave her place unlocked, but he had no way to get back in, so he decided to appeal to Mrs. Wallace for a spare key. She was only too pleased to help him out – she clearly liked the idea of someone else looking out for Maggs – though, oddly, she appeared to think he already had a key and chastised him for losing it. Once he’d procured the provisions, he took them back to Maggie’s flat and left a note on the refrigerator: _No skiing today, but maybe tomorrow. Yes, I’ll be careful. Borrowed an extra key from Mrs. Wallace (who seemed to think I already had one?) so that I could run to the Italian place to get you some lasagna. It’s in the fridge waiting to be heated. Least I could do so don’t roll those eyes. I don’t know how I’d have made it through last night without you. Thank you. And if you try to tell me you were just doing your job I swear I will sabotage your freezer so that you won’t be able to store ice cream anymore. R._

Richard spent the rest of the time he had off skiing as Maggie had suggested, relaxing, and making the final decision to sign on for his next project: a found-footage film about a tornado disaster. Shooting started pretty much the minute The Hobbit ended and was about as unlike what he’d been doing as could be, and that seemed a perfect choice. And then he went back to work. The time off had been great and gave him a chance to recharge his batteries, but he missed being on set, he missed Thorin, and he missed Maggie.

“Thanks for the lasagna,” she said on his first morning back as she prepped him for the prosthetics. She had texted him to say thank you that night, but obviously wanted to say it in person as well. “That was a nice surprise to come home to. So nice, I won’t even say you didn’t have to,” she added with a grin.

Richard rolled his eyes at her. “That’s very forbearing of you, and you’re welcome. So welcome I won’t even mention how much I appreciate you taking me in like you did.” He winked. “But um…why does Mrs. Wallace think I have a key to your place?”

Maggie blushed violently. “Oh, um…she, uh…well, I think that she…thinks that…you and I are…well, in a situation where it would be practicalforyoutohaveakey. So, music this morning?”

He shouldn’t have been, but he couldn’t help being amused at her discomfort. “How long have I supposedly had this key?”

Maggie shrugged and mumbled, “fewmonths.”

Richard laughed. “I wish I had known we were so close. You should have told me.”

Maggie’s face, if possible, went even redder. “Well, you know, I didn’t know how your actor ego would react to a Kiwi pensioner insulting your taste in women like that. Now, do you want music this morning or not?” She stood with her hip cocked and her arms folded across her chest and he immediately felt deflated. _Actor ego? She thinks I’d be insulted that someone would suggest we’re together? Like she’s beneath me? How could she think that? How could she think that *I* could think that?_

“No,” he said quietly. “No music this morning.”

There was no more chatter that day, and not much time for any, either which was just as well as he had Thorin’s head to get back into. They had started filming little bits and pieces of things intended to flesh things out. It was less hectic, but a bit more difficult for him having to flit from moment to moment instead of getting into a longer scene.

And then The Company stood on the Carrock and principal photography was over.

On the one hand, Richard was sad. It had been a long, exhausting process, but part of him still hated to see it end. On the other hand, there were the gifts. Peter was known for giving his cast some incredibly good souvenirs and Richard really, really wanted his sword, Orcrist. Once he’d shed his costume, he was back on the soundstage ready to receive his goodies. He felt like a kid at Christmas when he opened the box that held the sword. It was greater than any gift he’d ever gotten before. He also got the map and the key to Erebor, as well as a tiny LEGO Thorin. He’d loved LEGOS as a boy and to see himself immortalized as one was a special thrill. Then, as had the rest of the cast, he said a few words of thanks to cast and crew and apologized for being so grumpy all the time. It was one of the best last days he’d ever had on a film set.

Not that it was _really_ the last day, of course. He and most of the rest of the cast, as well as Peter and Philippa, were off to San Diego for a few days at Comic Con before returning to Wellington for a further fortnight of pickup filming. Richard had no idea of what to expect, having never been to a Con before, and was a bit anxious. He’d never particularly liked the promotional side of this business and never felt very comfortable doing it and tended to treat it as a necessary evil. Frankly, he’d have given it a miss if he could. The reception they received there, though, made him glad it hadn’t been optional to attend. He answered questions, he signed things (some conventional – pictures and books and the like, and some less so – body parts, among other things), he shook hands, he smiled and posed for pictures, and he marveled at the level of excitement already generated for a film which wouldn’t premiere for another five months. Filming in New Zealand had been an insular experience (which Richard had seen as a benefit), and it was eye-opening to see the buzz in the outside world. He enjoyed his time at Comic Con and it made him look forward to the opening of the film.

Richard was excited to get back to Wellington and back to filming. He couldn’t wait to share his experience at Comic Con with Maggie, because he’d spent a great deal of his time there wondering what her take would be on it. That first morning in the prosthetics truck, he regaled Maggie with stories of his time in San Diego. She was receptive at first, asking questions and making comments, but eventually she seemed to disconnect a bit and at one point was so distracted she almost dropped her airbrush. He shut up after that and let her get on with things.

During that last fortnight, Richard went to Maggie’s for dinner during the week, not just on Sundays. They never discussed it explicitly, but it was a chance to have last meals from each of their favorite places, and to finish off the little that remained in Maggie’s freezer. And to eat a LOT of ice cream.

On the last Sunday, Richard invited himself to go horseback riding with Maggie. They spent the afternoon meandering along the trails, cheerfully bearing the cold of winter that any other time would have been a deterrent. That night, they went to their favorite Chinese, Indian, and Thai places and got their favorites from each for one last Sunday night blowout.

Richard was determined that, sad though the occasion was, he would enjoy it to the fullest. The food was delicious, the wine was perfect, and there were two fresh pints of ice cream waiting for them in the freezer. Unfortunately, Maggie seemed a bit out of sorts and it was the only slight flaw in an otherwise perfect evening. These nights had meant the world to him – giving him a bit of routine and normality that he otherwise wouldn’t have had. _I’ve been extremely lucky to have this, to have her. And I don’t think I can ever hope to be this lucky again._

“I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like you to feed me,” he said with a rueful chuckle.

“Huh? What?”

“God, you’re miles away. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, of course,” she answered with a smile that came nowhere near her eyes. “I just wasn’t paying attention, I guess. I’m sorry - you were saying?”

“I said I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone like you to feed me.”

She laughed gruffly and rolled her eyes. “Yeah well, that’s because I’m so one of a kind.”

“Yes, you are,” he said and hoped she could see how much he meant it.

“You saved room for dessert, I hope,” she said abruptly as she gathered their plates. She took them out to the kitchen and returned with the pints of ice cream and two spoons. “I had thought about getting a tiramisu from the Italian place, but let’s face it - this is the only appropriate thing for us to eat.”

“We never did find any mousse for you, did we? I’m sorry; I’ll have to owe you.”

“I’m good with what I have,” she replied stiffly.

Richard wondered what was upsetting Maggie, because clearly, something was. _Maybe she’s upset this is our last Sunday, too. We should do something special. Well, more special than buying and eating twelve tons of food._

“We should take pictures.”

“What?” 

“Where are you tonight, Maggs? I was saying we should take a couple of pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of us, silly girl - sat here on you couch, you in your corner and me in mine. Do you think Mrs. Wallace would come up and take one for us?”

“Um…I don’t know…I mean, I guess so. But…can’t we just take it?”

Richard laughed. “I’m big, but I’m not _that_ big. If we want one of each of us in our respective corners, we’re not going to be able to do that in a selfie. My arm’s not that long.”

“Oh. No, I guess not,” she said with a short laugh. “There’s a timer on my camera.”

She rose and went into her bedroom, ostensibly to retrieve her camera. He knew she was camera shy, but they’d spent so much time sitting on that couch that it seemed only right to have photos. Richard didn’t want to forget everything about their time together.

Maggie brought the camera out to the sitting room and set it up so that the whole couch was in the frame and set the timer. Richard sat in his spot, facing forward with his shoeless feet on the coffee table, and Maggie sat in hers, sideways with her feet on the cushion between them. They took two pictures – one with them looking at the camera and one with them looking at each other.

“You’d best send those to me,” he said sternly before pulling her toward him by the ankles, causing her to yelp.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a selfie,” he answered as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “So get into the frame, woman.”

She laughed, albeit reluctantly. “You have enough pictures of me already, I’m thinking.”

“Would you please just humor me for once?” He pulled her against him and held her captive with his arm. “And you’d better smile or I’ll tickle you.”

She laughed again, this time more freely. “No, you won’t.”

One day, she would learn that he was more than willing to follow through on his threats. He did indeed tickle her, which made her laugh even harder and he snapped the picture and then turned his phone so they could see it. “Perfect,” he declared, and she started to pull away but Richard tightened his arm around her and kept her in place. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“Everything,” he answered with a short, slightly embarrassed laugh. “All the food. The movies. The conversations. The _normality._ There’s no way to explain how much it’s meant to me or how deeply I’m grateful for it. I don’t know how I’d have managed to get through all of this without you, Maggs,” he said as he gently stroked her hair.

“You’d have found a way,” she said quietly with a small shrug. “You’d have adapted.”

He was just about to bend his head toward her to kiss her, when she patted him on the knee and slid away, and he wasn’t at all sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. It was likely for the best that she moved when she did.

“I should get going,” Richard said as he looked at his watch. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Damn early makeup calls,” Maggie chuckled and stood. He followed her lead and turned to look down at the couch. “Would you two like a moment alone?”

He snorted. “No. Best to make a clean break, I think.” They walked to the kitchen and Richard turned to her when he reached the door. “Thank you,” he said as he pulled her in for a hug.

“You said that already, Armitazh.”

“Yeah, well I’m saying it again. Because I mean it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said into his shoulder. _God, she feels good – so perfect and soft and right._ “You do know we’re going to see each other in six hours, right?” She chuckled and he joined her.

“Oh, right. That. The makeup thing,” he said as he reluctantly released her. “See you tomorrow, May-reed.”

He opened the door and left, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he did anything that difficult. _Saying goodbye on Friday will be hell._

As he drove home, he remembered how he’d thought the same thing before Christmas, but she’d gone and left before he had a chance to say goodbye and he’d been spared. It had disappointed him, though, and that was with the knowledge that he’d see her again shortly afterward. He hated to think what it would be like if she snuck away this ti-

_That’s exactly what she’ll try to do._

Richard had no idea _how_ he knew it or why she’d feel the need, but he was as certain of the fact as he was that the earth revolved around the sun: Maggie would try to leave without saying goodbye. He was equally certain that he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. It took some doing, including a few discreet phone calls to Mrs. Wallace, but by mid-week, he was confident that he’d be able to foil Maggie’s plan.

And then suddenly, it was Friday. It went by way too quickly and before Richard knew it, they had wrapped and people started saying their goodbyes. He made the rounds and kept an eye on Maggie in case she tried to slip out before the makeup removal started. He happened across one of the still photographers and suddenly realized what a crime it would be not to have a picture with Maggie while he was in makeup. He looked around and spotted her talking with Natalie.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Natalie, but I need to borrow Maggie for a moment,” he said as he took her by the hand “Of course,” Natalie answered with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Before Maggie could protest the interruption, Richard pulled her along toward where he’d left the photographer waiting. “Um…where are we going?”

“Photo op,” he replied with a grin. “The irony is that you’ve hidden from the EPK crew just as much as I have and now we’re volunteering.”

“Wait…what?” She dug her heels in and refused to move. “I didn’t hide – they weren’t interested in a makeup girl. And we already did pictures at my place on Sunday.”

“Yes, but we need one with me in makeup. How can we not have one together with me in makeup?” He gave her an evil grin. “Now, either you come with me willingly, or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you. What say you?”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirked. _You’d think you’d have learned by now, Mairead._ “I think you know full well that I very much would dare.” He took a step toward her as she took a step back. “You’ll come willingly?”

“Richard, stop, no. I can’t. I’m nowhere near presentable enough for a picture.”

“You’re more than presentable enough, May-reed,” he said and grabbed her hand again and dragged her to a stop in front of the photographer. “Now, get ready to smile.”

“Richard, no, seriously. Had I known, I’d have done something to my hair this morning,” she said as she tried vainly to smooth it. “Or taken a shower. And this shirt. Look at this – there’s makeup and glue stains on it, and…when the hell did I eat tacos?”

Richard rolled his eyes and spun her around to face the camera. He flipped the ends of Thorin’s coat around her and held her by her shoulders. “There. Problem solved. Now smile, please, or we’ll keep doing it until you do.”

For once, Richard was thankful Maggie was as intractable as she was. Covering her with Thorin’s coat gave him the opportunity to get closer to her for those few precious seconds. When the photographer was satisfied, Richard turned her again and said, “one more” as he pulled her in for a hug. “Smile for this one, too, or I will tickle you until you pee,” he warned and she laughed.

With the photo op over and all his goodbyes said, Richard headed to wardrobe to take off his costume one last time. He smiled ruefully as he shed the pelt and Dwarf boots that part of him would miss and part of him never wanted to see again. Once back in Richard clothes, he went to have his wig removed, where he begged to have Thorin’s braid beads. He’d thought of a perfect use for them and was willing to pay to have them, if necessary. It took some cajoling and more than a bit of Armitage charm, but he was given permission to take them. Someone even found a box to keep them safe in. And then it was off to prosthetics.

Later, when he looked back on it, he’d remember sitting in Maggie’s chair, and he’d remember that it was Maggie who worked on him, but he wouldn’t remember anything else. The minute his bum made contact with the seat, he went completely mentally numb as the enormity of what was happening hit him. This was really it – the end. This was the last time Maggie would stand in front of him and remove his makeup. It really was over. Two hundred and seventy times she’d done it, and there wouldn’t be a two hundred and seventy-first. They may have spoken while she worked, or they may not have. Richard had no clue. He just knew that she seemed to be finished awfully quickly – too quickly – and then he was dismissed.

And he thought he’d felt grief when “Thorin” “died”.

He left the prosthetics truck and made his way across Stone Street for the last time. He knew the car he’d arranged would be waiting for him to go back to his flat to collect his luggage. His agents would send a crew to pack the things he wasn’t taking to Detroit and ship them home to London for him – it was mostly clothes and toiletries and a few books, which is really all he brought with him in the first place. His most treasured possession, the picture Lizzie had drawn for him, had been carefully sealed between two pieces of cardboard and rested safely next to his Mac in his carry-on bag. When he finally got home to London in September, he’d take it to one of the galleries in Southbank and have it matted and framed.

Richard lurked behind someone’s large SUV and tried not to think too hard. It didn’t take long until he saw Maggie make her way (oh-so-stealthily, thereby confirming his theory that she’d planned to sneak away) across the car park to the cheery little yellow thing she’d borrowed from Mrs. Wallace once she’d sold her own car. Once she was away and he was sure she wouldn’t spot him, he walked off the lot to the chauffeured car waiting for him. A quick stop at his place for his case and carry-on, and they were off to Mrs. Wallace’s.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. They arrived just in time to see Robert, Mrs. Wallace’s son who was aware of the plan, pretend to put Maggie’s suitcase in the boot of the waiting cab. Richard’s driver pulled alongside, and Richard slipped the cabbie fifty dollars to abandon his fare. The driver got out to open the boot so that Robert could load Maggie’s case. By that point, Maggie had seen her cab drive off and had charged into the street to investigate.

“What the hell is going on here,” She demanded and tried to grab her bag.

“You really thought you were going to get away without saying goodbye,” Richard said, sadly, as he got out of the car.

Maggie let go of her case and spun to face him. “I…what are you doing here?”

“Not letting you sneak off and taking you to the airport.”

“But…your flight doesn’t leave until later. You don’t have to be at the airport for hours!”

“Yeah, well…I can wait in an airport just as well as I can wait anywhere else,” he answered with a small smile. “You were really going to leave without saying a word, weren’t you?” He’d _known_ she’d try to do it, but somehow, it still surprised – and saddened – him.

“I…” she started and her voice cracked.

“I know. You’re bad at goodbyes. Good thing I knew you’d try this, then, eh? And good thing we’re not saying goodbye.”

“We’re…not?”

“No, we’re not. We’re friends now, Maggie. _Real_ friends. Not because of this film and not because of this place. Not anymore. We’re friends and we’ll keep in touch, so there’s no reason to say goodbye.”

 _We’ll keep in touch._ No, they wouldn’t and they both knew it. It was the lie everyone told themselves and each other at the end of production. But he _wanted_ it to be true this time, dammit – wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything and so he said it and tried to make himself believe it. He wanted her to believe it, too.

He could tell by the look on Maggie’s face that she wanted to argue, she wanted to refuse, and he more than half expected her to do it. Miraculously, she didn’t. She merely said, “You should go say goodbye to Mrs. Wallace.”

He walked over to the waiting Wallaces with Maggie trailing behind. He shook Robert’s hand and then gave Mrs. Wallace a hug and a kiss on the cheek that evoked a very schoolgirl-like blush. It also earned him a whispered warning: “Don’t you lose touch with our girl.” Maggie gave each of them one more hug and then they walked back to the car together and he didn’t try to resist the urge to rest his hand on the small of her back. _What can she do? Get mad and refuse ever to see me again?_

Once in the car, Maggie sat straight-backed and waved as it pulled away and he could tell she was fighting tears. Even once they were out of sight, Maggie kept her gaze out the window and sat just as stiffly. He admired her fortitude, but this wasn’t the time for either of them to be brave.

“Hey,” he said and when she had turned her head slowly to face him, he stretched his arm out to her and tapped his chest with his other hand. “Come here.”

Richard expected her to refuse. She didn’t.

Maggie slid over to him and buried her face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. He knew she would rather die than cry in front of him, and he figured maybe if she didn’t have to look at him it would make it easier to do so. Surprisingly, she didn’t cry at all. In fact if anything, she relaxed against him and that was almost worse. They held each other for the rest of the trip to the airport. It was, sadly, a very short drive.

They went through check-in and security together and Richard insisted on staying with Maggie until her plane boarded. She tried to protest, but he was having none of it.

“Buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m not really in the mood, believe it or not.”

He smiled. “Who are you and what have you done with Mairead Drummond? Oh shit, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” he said as he rummaged through his carry-on and pulled out the box he’d been given at Stone Street. “Souvenir.”

She took the box from him with a quizzical frown and opened it. “Thorin’s braid beads??? Richard, I can’t take these! They’re yours!” She tried to hand them back.

“I want you to have them, Maggie. I thought…well,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you knew a pirate queen who might like them.” It suddenly didn’t seem as inspired an idea as it had earlier. She looked up at him in surprise, and he could see she was touched and pleased and maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“I…thank you. She’ll love them,” she said as she threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered again. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be grabbing you in public,” she said in obvious horror at what for her was probably scandalous behavior.

She started to pull away, but he held her tight. “I doubt there are any paparazzi here, Maggie, but even if there are, who gives a fuck? I’m a grown man and I can hug who I want where I want.” _And if I could stand here like this for hours with you, I would._

Sadly, he couldn’t be that lucky, and just a few seconds later, her flight was called. This was it, then.

“That’s me,” she said and he could feel her whole body go stiff.

Richard cleared his throat. “Right then. Okay. Promise me you’ll text me when you land. And I mean you have to keep your promise. Don’t forget and make me worry,” he said as he pulled back and shook his finger in her face.

“I promise,” she answered solemnly. “I won’t forget.”

“And don’t be so damn bloody stubborn all the time, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said with a small smile. “And you – try to enjoy yourself a little, okay? Don’t always be so focused on what you didn’t do and what you should have done and appreciate what you have accomplished. If nothing else, enjoy the fact that you probably won’t have any 4:30 makeup calls and you’ll probably spend less than ten minutes a day in the chair,” she said hurriedly and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“I’ll do my best,” he echoed and pulled her back and enveloped her in a hug. He was trying to wrap himself around her and cram a lifetime of holding her into those few precious seconds. “Take care of yourself,” he said with his face in her hair.

“You too,” she answered and surprised him by holding him tight.

He cleared his throat again, and pulled out of the hug. “Right then,” he said before placing the barest of kisses on her forehead.

“No goodbye.”

“No goodbye,” she said with a nod. Maggie tucked Thorin’s beads into her bag and gave Richard what he suspected was the biggest smile of which she was capable. It wasn’t very big.

He couldn’t think what to say and he suddenly found himself repeating what he’d said the very first time he’d ever walked away from her. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you…May-reed.”

“Oh no, the pleasure was all mine…Monsieur Armitazh.” It was exactly the same way she’d answered him before.

Richard stood and watched her walk to the gate as the whole universe crumbled around him. He would kick himself for months for letting her go, for letting her leave him without knowing how he felt, for not falling to his knees and begging her to stay with him. He watched, with a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, as she turned for one last look and he prayed she was far enough away that she couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. He returned her small wave and even smaller smile as swells of sadness and loss washed over him and then she turned and was gone.

Somehow, Richard made his way to the Air New Zealand lounge. Sometime later, he found himself staring into his whisky (because it’s what Maggie would have ordered). Sometime after that, he found himself stowing his carry-on in the bin with no recollection of boarding the plane. As he went to turn off his phone it buzzed, and he stupidly dared hope it was her. It wasn’t. The stills photographer had sent the pictures they’d posed for. Richard sat and stared at the photos of an old, tired Dwarf and the most amazing woman he would ever meet, and as the plane took off, he closed his eyes and tried very hard not to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They get married, they get married, they get married, they get married, they get married...


	19. Moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember: we all know they live happily ever after until the end of their days.

Richard was extraordinarily lucky that the small commuter flight that was the first leg of his journey was so sparsely populated at that hour of a Friday night so that he could get hold of himself in relative peace. He spent the layover in Auckland working on the backstory for his new character, Gary Fuller, and was thankful that he had something to focus on rather than dwelling on things that could neither be helped nor changed. He spent most of the flight to LAX in a near-coma. When he landed in Detroit slightly more than a full day after that heart-wrenching goodbye in Wellington, Richard felt ready to get on with his life post- _Hobbit_. He’d wait for Maggie to let him know that she’d landed safely in Dublin, and then the healing could begin. That it would, he had no doubt.

Richard had a rather unfortunate track record when it came to relationships and working. Simply put: the work always won, to the detriment of his relationships. More than one had ended because he went off somewhere to film and neglected to stay in touch. He wasn’t proud of that. He tried to rationalize that if a relationship was meant to be, he’d feel more motivation to keep the communication lines open, but he still considered it his biggest failing. He’d once tried to salvage an ignored relationship publicly, but the damage had already been done and his efforts proved futile, not to mention a bit embarrassing. The bottom line was, and he was ashamed even to admit this to himself, that he seemed to have a very “out of sight, out of mind” outlook on the women he’d been involved with.

As for Maggie, yes, he loved her, but he’d loved others, too, and that hadn’t been enough to motivate him to devote sufficient energy to keep things going. He’d simply go away and the feelings would fade, and sad though it was, he expected that what he felt for Maggie would fade even faster.

_Count your blessings that you never told her how you felt, Richie. At least you spared her that. You spared yourself the recriminations while you were at it, too._

Richard settled into his hotel room his first night in Detroit with a much more optimistic outlook than he’d had in weeks. He felt relaxed, lighter, and ready to start the next chapter of his life…until his phone buzzed and he saw it was a text message from Maggie, and suddenly his heart threatened to pound out of his chest as he read:

_I remembered. Landed in the rain - two more hours by bus to Ashford. I’m in one piece._

It was never an exact science, deciphering tone in a typed message like that, but he didn’t think she’d ever “sounded” so exhausted before.

_Thank you for remembering. You seem tired. Hope you have time to rest._

_Thanks. I’ll sleep when I’m dead._

Damn. She seemed down, so…spent, and he wished he could be there when she reached her final destination. He could pour her a glass of wine and maybe give her a back ru-… No. See, this was _exactly_ the type of thinking he needed to stop. He wasn’t her white knight, and she wasn’t a damsel in distress. In fact, she was one of the least distressed damsels he’d ever known. She didn’t need him, but he wanted to take care of her anyway.

_You’ll get over that. Just let it go and it’ll fade._

Shooting for _Into the Storm_ started the very next day, and Richard thought the phrase “hit the ground running” had never been more apt. He spent long hours in front of ridiculously enormous wind machines with things pelting him at over 160 kilometers per hour, while what he was sure had to be a billion gallons of water was dumped on him. There were a number of times he swore he’d never make it out of the production without drowning. Of course, somehow, he ended up thinking that on _every_ production. The flip side to that coin was there wasn’t much, if any, room for extraneous thought while trying to stand upright in near-Biblical wind and rain.

Night time, however, was a different story. Richard would find himself alone in his hotel room, reviewing the day’s events and wondering what Maggie would have to say. It was at those times that he would throw himself into preparing for the next day – learning his lines, refining his backstory, or just getting himself mentally ready for another day of water and wind.

Unfortunately, he had no control over his dreams.

While Richard waited (impatiently) for his feelings to fade, his subconscious seemed determined to ramp them up. He woke most mornings, and occasionally multiple times during the night, fresh from dreaming of Maggie. The sex dreams weren’t so bad – they were raunchy and dirty and oftentimes required he give himself a bit of attention afterward – but the other dreams were pure hell. Most were dead boring in the abstract – just scenes of everyday things: cooking together in Maggie’s Wellington kitchen, laughing together, horseback riding, holding each other while watching telly, and Richard’s least favorite: Maggie spooning him.

Well, truth be told, that was his favorite – he would never forget how soft she felt, or, for all she was small, how well she fit against him – but it was torture. It made him think things he didn’t want to think. It made him think things he _shouldn’t_ think. A few weeks on, shouldn’t he have begun to get over her?

And then came the day that a crew member told a joke – a really stupid joke – and on a break, Richard found himself texting Maggie without even realizing he’d decided to do so.

_How many South Americans does it take to change a light bulb?_

It took until his next break to see her response: _I have no idea. How many DOES it take?_

Richard smiled as he sent the punch line: _A BRAZILIAN._

_That was awful and you should be ashamed of yourself. :-D_

Until that moment, Richard had no idea how happy one of those dumb little text smileys could make him, and from then on, he started looking for reasons to text her. He’d send selfies from the set where he looked like a drowned rat, he’d send a picture of an empty makeup chair with the caption “look where I’m NOT spending two hours every morning”, he texted to whinge about the makeup person with the horrific breath who did the on-set touch-ups one day, he got a reputation amongst the crew for loving stupid jokes – just so he’d have something to send her. She didn’t always respond right away, but she did respond.

He should stop. He knew he should stop. Keeping the lines of communication open – no matter how trivially – was not going to let him move on. But God help him, he didn’t want to move on. He didn’t _want_ to forget. It was inevitable – he knew that, too – but he did not have to go gently, dammit.

And maybe, just maybe, _she_ didn’t want to forget, either.

His birthday was on a Wednesday. His mum called and they had a cake for him on set, but other than that, it was just another day in production – until he got back to the hotel. He walked into the lobby, still feeling pruny and waterlogged, and the concierge greeted him with a package that had arrived that day. It was from Maggie. He couldn’t get to his room fast enough. Richard dropped his bag as soon as he was in the door and carried the box to the desk. It was not a small box and it was quite weighty and he couldn’t imagine what might be inside. He used his penknife to cut through the tape and pulled out a card which read: _“Happy birthday from Ireland! Sorry I couldn’t figure out how to get ice cream from New Zealand to Detroit, but maybe next year. Until then, please accept this consolation package. M.”_ The contents of the box really didn’t matter, but a thorough search of it yielded an assortment of Butler’s Irish Chocolate – a truffle assortment, dark chocolate bars with whiskey, packets of drinking chocolate in assorted flavors, plain milk chocolate bars, Irish cream chocolates, and pralines.

Maggie had remembered his birthday.

Richard was not someone who thought he could ever be described with the word “giddy”, but that’s how he felt at that moment. _She remembered my birthday!_ If anyone saw him, they’d have seen the biggest, silliest, goofiest grin ever to grace his face. Even his Mum’s phone call earlier that afternoon hadn’t evoked a smile that big. _She remembered my birthday!_

He checked the time. It was three in the morning where she was and she’d kill him if he called. Texting a thank you didn’t seem adequate, though. Besides, he was overwhelmed with the need to hear her voice. He tried out a few of the sweets, readied himself for bed, and set his alarm for two-thirty. He had a very late makeup call the next morning, so losing a bit of sleep wouldn’t be a problem. It would be seven-thirty her time and he’d just have to hope he didn’t wake her or that she wasn’t already at work.

Richard woke before the alarm went off and didn’t even try waiting. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey birthday boy! To what do I owe this honor?”

“I wanted to thank you. No one has ever sent me a lifetime supply of chocolate before,” he said with a chuckle.

Maggie laughed. “Lifetime supply? Are you planning to off yourself? That shouldn’t last that long.”

“Are you kidding me? It will take me years to eat this much!”

“The hell it will, Oakenaddict. You used to consume your weight in ice cream on my couch in a month.”

He grinned at the use of an Oaken-epithet. _God, I’ve missed that._ “Did not. But anyway, thank you. I didn’t know you even knew when my birthday was.”

She laughed again. “You’re welcome and you’re kidding, right? Hello? Google, Wikipedia, IMDB…”

“Well, that’s not fair! I don’t know when yours is. Or was? How many have I missed?” _Jesus, you twat. How can you not know her birthday?_

“Well, theoretically, you’ve missed all of them,” she chuckled. “But we’ve only known each other for two of them so you’re excused for the first thirty-three. And really, you pretty much only tolerated me during my thirty-fourth, so I’ll let you off the hook for that one, too.”

“And the thirty-fifth?”

“Yep, you missed that one completely. You bastard,” she said and he could hear the grin.

“When was it? Please don’t tell me it was a Sunday. And if it was, please tell me I at least bought you dinner and didn’t make you cook for me.”

“Hey, you never _made_ me cook for you, but no, it wasn’t a Sunday. It was…well, actually you did have dinner at my place that night. You had ice cream and wine.”

“Ice cream and wi- Oh, fucking hell, Maggie, THAT was your birthday? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because you had other things on your mind, you ridiculous man.”

“Yeah, but… Christ, Maggs, that was…oh god, that was your birthday. Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, stop. I turned thirty-five, not five. Birthdays were a big deal to me when I was wee, but they’re not so much now. Besides, I had ice cream that night, too. And then I had a hot movie star in my bed, so that’s pretty much the greatest birthday ever, really,” she said and laughed again. Still, he felt like an utter cock.

“I feel like an utter cock.”

Her voice softened. “Okay, how about I rephrase? I got to eat ice cream that night, too, and then I had the privilege of comforting a friend who needed it. That’s not such a bad use of my time, you know. Better?”

“A little,” he conceded. “But still…”

“But still nothing. I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got dirty, hairy Vikings to go splatter with blood.”

“Well, of course you do. But wait – what’s the date? Of your birthday, I mean.”

“June 20. And Richard? You don’t have to eat all the chocolate by yourself, you know. You could share it. Maybe your makeup person would like some.”

His stomach turned at the thought. “There is only one makeup person I would share my chocolates with, Maggie,” he replied in complete seriousness. “Have a good day, okay?”

“You too, Oaken…birthday? Sorry, it’s early and I’ve not had coffee yet. Take care.”

“You too,” he answered and when he’d ended the call he added, “I miss you.”

And he did truly feel like a prat for not ever asking when her birthday was. And to find out she spent it comforting him when “Thorin” “died”. He would love to make that up to her – to give her a better birthday next year, but he was well aware of the futility of making a plan for ten months in the future. Still… _Almost a month. Almost a month since we were on the same continent and I’ve just talked to her more tha-_ … He sighed. It would start fading soon, right?

Filming continued, each day seemingly wetter than the last and Richard learned more about weather than he ever thought possible. He enjoyed it, though. There were challenges, of course (what production _didn’t_ have them?), but it was far less stressful and completely different than _The Hobbit_. It was also shorter. Suddenly, it was September and they wrapped and he was finally headed home to England, eight months after he’d last set foot there.

His house was as quiet and lonely and empty as when he’d left it, and Richard didn’t know what to do with himself. For the first time since…well, longer than he could remember, he had nothing on his plate. He visited friends, he visited his parents, he visited his brother. He considered doing some DIY on the house, but he’d already done everything he could during other down times. He worked on a little surprise project he had going for Lizzie. There was a photo shoot or two. There were a few auditions, but nothing came of them and they weren’t anything that really excited him, anyway. That was the problem with the scripts he was reading, too – nothing excited him. Richard slowly started to realize that he was doomed to a protracted period of boredom.

Boredom was not good when one was trying to get over one’s feelings for someone. The only good thing about it was that with nothing much going on in his life and without a ready stream of jokes, he didn’t have much reason to text Maggie. That was progress, right? Not staying in touch was always the first step, so maybe he really was on his way to moving on.

Until Halloween, that is.

Actually, it was a few days before Halloween. Richard checked his email, fully expecting there to be nothing worth reading when he saw Maggie’s name. He opened the message and read: _“Happy Halloween. We have a party planned for the day in question, but Charlie brought in a photographer a few days early to do some promo stuff for some of the time periods we cover for schools. Thought you might like to see what became of Thorin’s beads.”_ Attached was a picture of a ridiculously hot lady pirate. It was a good thing she mentioned the beads because otherwise, he’d never have noticed them.

_Please tell me you don’t actually send THAT picture around to schools?_

He sent the text and sat impatiently waiting for her reply while trying to ignore how little room he had in his pants.

_What’s wrong with that picture? I think I actually look pretty okay._

_Oh, you look more than “okay”. WAY more than “okay”._

_And the beads? Do you like the beads?_

_There are beads in this picture?_

_LOL Yes, you giant dork! Okay, no, we’re not sending that picture around to schools. That was just Morag and me having a laugh. Thought you’d laugh, too, and might appreciate seeing your beads._

_Oh. THOSE beads. They look good. Thank you._

_You’re welcome. Happy Halloween, Armitazh._

_Happy Halloween, May-reed._

“Just Morag and me having a laugh”?? Fucking hell, what would Maggie look like if she were trying to look _sexy_? She stood, with a rapier in one hand and her other on her hip, with a smirk that would make Sir Guy proud. Hell, Sir Guy had probably never smirked that well. There were equal parts amusement and pure evil intent in that smirk. She _had_ to know what she was doing, didn’t she?

She _had_ to know what leather thigh high boots did to a man. She _had_ to know he’d wonder how she could possibly breathe in a corset that tight and how he’d want to unlace it with his teeth. She _had_ to know that there was way too much of her spilling out over the top of that corset. Didn’t she? God, what he wouldn’t give to pull that peasant blouse down and bury his face in her ti-

No. No, no, no, no, no, no. He was not doing this. No more. NO. He was not wanking to a picture of a woman who didn’t even know what she did to him. Nothing was ever going to happen between them and the sooner he stopped nursing fantasies that anything could, the better. He needed to be over her, like, yesterday.

It would probably help if he wasn’t so bloody up for it all the time, and he probably wouldn’t be if he could remember the last time he’d been with anything other than his own hand.

_Getting laid could solve a couple of problems all at once._

It was initially just a fleeting thought, but the longer he reflected on it, the more merit it seemed to have. It would help alleviate the horniness and hopefully give him the push he needed to put his feelings for Maggie behind him. All he needed was a partner.

Morally speaking, Richard didn’t object to a night with a willing stranger. It wasn’t a habit he ever wanted to develop and it never seemed to be as fun as it ought to be, but he wasn’t above it on occasion, either. The problem was, he was at a point in his life where he had to be very careful. He had achieved enough recognition that there was a real danger of a night of no-strings sex turning into something very complicated indeed, and he wasn’t sure he felt like putting the energy into avoiding that.

Before he had finished nixing the idea of a one-nighter with a stranger, he was calling Janie.

Richard had met Jane years and years ago when he walked into a coffee shop and promptly tripped over her chair. Were he not fresh from a particularly nasty break-up while she had just been granted a divorce, it would have been a meet-cute worthy of any rom-com. As it was, they struck up a friendship that one very drunken night had ended in sex. They had tried to make a go of it then – the whole proper dating thing and all, but it had only taken about two days for them to want to strangle each other. After that, they stayed in touch, getting together every so often for a meal and if they were both free, some fantastic shagging.

He wasn’t sure when the last time was they’d talked to or seen each other, so he wasn’t fully certain what his reception would be, but Janie was as glad as ever to hear from him and agreed to meet him for dinner after work at a restaurant they’d often frequented.

Richard arrived first and got a table and ordered a bottle of wine which came at roughly the same time Jane did. When he saw her walk in, the breath caught in his throat. She was fucking stunning.

Janie was always stunning. She was a blue-eyed blonde who knew how to dress to devastate and that night was no exception. She wore a fitted white blouse that showed off her trim form and a tight black skirt that was just long enough to cover her decently, but short enough to show a hell of a lot of leg. Jane was tall – almost 5’10” in her bare feet – but she was one of those rare tall women that didn’t feel her height precluded her from wearing heels, and the heels she chose to wear that night made those fabulous legs of hers look even longer. They also allowed Richard to kiss her by barely dipping his head, and there was nothing sexier than a level kiss to a tall man.

“You look fantastic,” he said as held her chair while she sat.

“Thanks for noticing,” she grinned. “You do, too. Bespoke suits…well, they suit you.”

“A far cry from the day we met, yeah?” He laughed as he poured the wine.

She joined his laughter. “Most definitely. I always thought it was a shame that someone who looked like you was born with the inability to dress himself. So how have you been and what have you been up to?”

Richard was slightly surprised at how comfortable it was between them, though he really shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other after a long interval, and it had never been awkward somehow. They caught each other up on their lives and then chatted like the old friends they were. They ordered and they ate and they laughed and it was easy and relaxing and just what he’d been hoping for.

“Dessert?” He asked as he finished his dinner and immediately wished he hadn’t. Of course she didn’t want dessert – she never did. Hell, she never finished more than half her meal.

“No thanks,” she demurred. “But you go on ahead. I don’t mind.”

He waved it off. He didn’t need dessert anyway. “No, that’s all right. Did you drive today or – “

“No, I took the Tube in this morning then got a cab here to the restaurant.”

Richard smiled. “Then I get the honor of driving you home.” He paid the check and then escorted her out. As he opened the car door for her, Jane paused before getting in.

“You know, you told me all the things you’ve been doing since we saw each other last, but you never mentioned if you were seeing anyone.”

He grinned. “Didn’t I?” He closed her door when she got in and then went around to his side. “That must be because there’s nothing to tell,” he said as he started the motor. “And how about you?”

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” she replied. Her tone was light, but she reached over to rest her hand on his thigh. “How coincidental,” she said as she grinned and gave his leg a little squeeze.

Richard took that hand in his and softly brushed his lips across her knuckles. “How fortunate,” he said quietly as he returned her hand to his leg and rested his on top.

Jane lived nearby – Richard had chosen the restaurant for that very reason just in case – so it wasn’t long before he was walking her to her door.

“I should tell you now that I won’t be able to stay. I have a breakfast meeting with my agents at an absolutely ungodly hour so if you’d rather a rain check…”

Her only answer after she’d gotten the door open was to grab him by the tie and pull him inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and then turned to back her into it. He kissed her hard while pressing the length of his body against hers, and she kissed him back just as hard while undoing his tie and pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

“I’m so glad you called tonight,” she said breathlessly as he kissed her neck. She’d have stubble burn in the morning.

“So am I,” he growled back as he cupped her bum and lifted her. He wanted to get to the couch at least before he nailed her right there in her front hall.

Janie wrapped those glorious legs around him and he carried her into her sitting room, kissing her deeply as he went. It was a good thing Jane wasn’t much for interior design and hadn’t rearranged or bought new furniture, or he’d likely have injured them both. He managed to navigate his way to the couch and she slid down his body to stand in front of him, and he whimpered to not have her wrapped around him anymore. He reached for her, but she pushed him down onto the couch.

“Are you just going to stand there looking?” he smirked up at her.

Janie laughed. “But I so enjoy the view.”

“So do I,” he replied while looking her up and down.

She straddled him and finished pulling off his tie before starting on his buttons. She grinded against him and he could feel the heat of her as his hips bucked. He pulled her to him hard and kissed her, tasting and licking and nipping as his hands roamed over her body. He wanted to touch all of her, all at once. When she grinded against him again, he decided that there were far too many layers between them.

Richard batted her hands away and sat up so he could undo her blouse. With each button he opened, he kissed the skin it revealed and he smiled when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Janie almost never wore a bra, and he loved that. She had the most perfect little breasts with exquisitely sensitive nipples, and he suckled one while lightly pinching the other. Jane moaned loudly and pressed her hips down hard against him.

“Oh fuck, Janie,” he growled before kissing her again.

He lifted her and maneuvered so he could lie on top of her and she had her legs wrapped around him again before he settled himself between them.

_We still have way too many damn clothes on._

He kissed his way down her neck while sliding a hand up her thigh. He shifted to slide it between them and slipped his fingers into her panties. _Fucking hell, is she we-_

“Richard…Richard, stop,” she said and gently pushed at his chest.

“Uh…why? What’s wrong?”

“Sit up, love. We have to stop.”

Richard did as he was told…reluctantly. “Jane, what…?” She wiggled the rest of the way out from under him and gathered the sides of her blouse together. “Are you okay? What is it?”

“Who’s Mairead?” she asked quietly.

“I…what?” he asked as a cold, sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Who’s Mairead?” she repeated. Shockingly, she didn’t look angry, just…curious. “You said ‘oh, Mairead’.” Who is she?”

“No, you…must have misheard.”

“Misheard?” She laughed. “Richard, what sounds like Mairead?”

“Parade,” he said weakly. _‘I just automatically plan to say ‘it rhymes with parade’.’_

“Oh, well that makes much more sense. We’re getting it on and you say ‘oh, parade’. What _was_ I thinking?” She was laughing again.

“Janie, I…I’m sorry,” he finished lamely. But what else could he say?

She favored him with a pitying smile. “Who is she, Richard? You said you weren’t seeing anyone and –“

“I’M NOT. Jane, I would never! Do you think I was lying?” _Anger. Anger is good. Go with the anger._

“No, Richard, I don’t. Well, not really. But then, you’ve never called me another woman’s name before. What was I to think?”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh no, you won’t. If you’re not going to shag me rotten then I at least get the story as to why. Now pull yourself together while I go change and I swear to god if you sneak out before I get back I will hunt you down and _make_ you tell me. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said sheepishly.

Richard rebuttoned his shirt and got it tucked in and folded his tie and put it in his pocket. Had he really said Maggie’s name? He had no recollection – he didn’t even realize he had been thinking about her. How _could_ he be thinking about her at a time like that? _Fuck, I am so screwed._

He was sitting listlessly with his hands dangling between his knees when Jane came back. She had changed into a loose sweater and a pair of yoga pants and was carrying a glass of wine which she offered to him.

“Here. You look like you could use it.”

“Thank you,” he said and took a long sip and then a deep breath. “Janie, I cannot possibly apologize enough f-“

“Oh, relax Richie, it’s okay. My ego isn’t bulletproof, but this is actually not the worst thing that’s ever happened before, during, or after sex. But I am absolutely _dying_ to know who this woman is. We’ve been together minutes after you’ve had your heart broken and you never said someone else’s name. Who is she?”

“She’s…it’s complicated.” He didn’t want to talk about her. He _really_ didn’t want to talk about her.

“Well, of course it’s complicated, love. It always is with you,” she said not unkindly.

“Yeah, fair enough,” he mumbled.

Jane sighed. “Okay, I can see this is going to be like pulling your perfect teeth. We’ll start off simply: where did you meet her?”

“New Zealand.”

“New Z-? Oh. Oh, Richard, I’m sorry. You fell for someone who lives tens of thousands of miles away.”

“I didn’t say I fell for her! But she doesn’t. Live there, I mean. She lives here. Well, Scotland – she’s a Scot.”

"Oh. So you had to go all the way to New Zealand to meet someone from…wait a minute – did you work together?”

Richard didn’t want to answer that question, so he made a gesture that was somewhere between a shrug and a nod.

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, we worked together,” he ground out, a little too loudly.

Jane laughed. “OH!!! Mr. I’ll Never Mix Business With Pleasure Again! How’d that work out for you?” She quailed at the look he gave her. “Sorry. But I did tell you those words could come back to bite you in the arse, didn’t I? Is she an actress?”

“No.” He was back to mumbling again.

“Oh come on, Richie. Throw me a bone here, would you? Or do you really want me to play twenty questions all night?”

He heaved a mammoth sigh. “She’s…she’s a prosthetic artist. It was her job to turn me into a dwarf every bloody morning and back into me every damn night. We’re friends, that’s all. I don’t even know why I said her name.”

“Oh, that is complete and utter horseshit. Don’t look at me all shocked! It is! The one thing we’ve always had between us is honesty and now you sit there lying to me. I believe you’re just friends, but I don’t for a minute believe you don’t know why you said her name. I take it she has no idea how you feel because you’ve not bothered to tell her,” she finished bluntly. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

“You’ve had your story now so I’m leaving,” he said as he started to rise.

She was unfazed by his peevishness. “I’ve had _part_ of the story, not the whole, and I’ve not dismissed you yet.” Her tone softening, she said, “It wouldn’t have worked, you know.”

“What wouldn’t?”

“Screwing me.” He flinched at her blunt vulgarity. “It wouldn’t have made you get over her. Even if I had let you keep going – it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Janie –“

“Richard, I know you. I’ve seen and heard you talk about girlfriends before – girlfriends you asked to live with you, by the way. And you’ve never had a look in your eyes the way you do right now. You’re really in love with her. I think that if I’d not stopped you, you’d have stopped yourself.”

“I think you have too much faith in me.”

She smiled. “I think you don’t have enough.” He didn’t answer – he merely snorted. “So why are you just friends? I know,” she said in answer to his look. “It’s complicated. Let me guess: she doesn’t do actors and you don’t screw around at work. But it’s not just screwing around, is it? How am I doing so far?” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, since I’m obviously _right_ I’ll keep going.” Jane was enjoying this. Damn her. “My guess is that you didn’t fall for her because she’s really handy with a makeup brush. I’d say you got to know her – more than you intended to – and somewhere along the way you fell for her without even realizing it, yeah?” She finished and looked at him expectantly. When he again chose not to answer, she forged on. “And now you’re back here in your real life and you’re not around her anymore and you’re wondering why in the hell you still think about her and it’s making you miserable. Yes?” That time he deigned to nod. What was the point in denying it? She wouldn’t believe him anyway. She laughed and ruffled his hair. “Welcome to adulthood, Peter Pan.”

“Oh, come on. That’s a bit rich, coming from you, isn’t it? You’ve not had an actual relationship since I’ve known you.”

“Because I don’t want one, you barmy bastard. You do. You think you don’t. You tell yourself you don’t. You find excuses for why it wouldn’t work out, but you keep trying. And you keep trying because deep down inside, it’s what you want. And now you’ve gone and actually found yourself someone to _truly_ fall in love with. And you’re scared silly.”

He looked at her with utter revulsion. “Are you sure it’s comparative religion you teach at that college of yours and not psychology? Or do you just fancy yourself an armchair Freud?”

Jane laughed. “I’m observant. And I’ve been observing _you_ for years now. I’ll let you in on a little secret: you’re not nearly as inscrutable as you’d like to think.”

“You’re a pain in the arse, you know that?”

“Mm hm,” she said with a smile. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?” he asked, warily.

“If you ever do get together with this woman, promise me you’ll let me meet her. Because any woman who can turn you completely inside out with just her _friendship_ is a woman worth knowing.”

“Oh, yeah. No, absolutely. I’ll invite you to the wedding,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You can name the baby after me, too.” She laughed as she stood and then pulled him up. “Now get out. I’ve had a long day and then some wanker promised me hot sex but then called me some other woman’s name. I’ve a date with a shower head and you’ve a breakfast meeting.”

She propelled him to the front door where he stopped to pick his jacket off the floor where she’d dropped it.

“Janie, I – “

“Sh,” she said as she laid a finger on his lips. “It really is okay, Richard. I know I said some things you didn’t want to hear, but if nothing else, you should know I understand. But if I could get you to promise me anything, it’s that you give some thought to doing something about this. And I don’t mean finding someone else to get off with. I mean telling this woman how you feel.”

“I –“

“Just think about it.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek and opened the door for him. “And don’t be such a bloody stranger.”

A short time later, Richard walked into his empty house more frustrated – about everything – than he was when he left. He flopped face first onto his couch, lacking the energy to haul himself to bed and just lay there, trying not to think. His next-to-last conscious thought before sleep overcame him was that he really should have just gone out and found some chippy to fuck. His last thought was that Janie was right – he _was_ scared silly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't go where you thought it would. Did it? :-)


	20. The best laid plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARRRRRRRRRRRGH! This was all uploaded, formatted, and edited (more on that later). Then I went to hit "preview" right at the moment that the electricity (and, thence, the WiFi) went down. [expletives deleted]
> 
> This was all after messing up and not allowing myself enough time to send this chapter to my wonderful beta. Well, I could have, but then I'd either have had to rush her, or not post on time. Therefore, all mistakes are mine (which they always are, come to think of it, but hopefully you know what I mean).

The good news was that Richard had had the presence of mind to set the alarm on his phone before he crashed on the couch. That bad news was that it woke him far too early and he rose stiff, cold, and disappointed to find that the dream he’d been having wasn’t real. He had been in bed with Maggie – all tangled limbs and warm flesh – and waking alone at the arse crack of dawn on his couch instead was a rotten start to his day.

_Bloody early breakfast meetings. Bloody stupid dreams._

If it had only been a sex dream, it wouldn’t have been so bad – a quick wank in the shower and on with his day - but it hadn’t been about sex. They were huddled together under the duvet just holding each other in that state between sleeping and wakefulness where the only real perception that filters in is degree of contentedness and comfort. Richard had been very content and comfortable and waking was cruel.

He had just enough time to stumble to the kitchen and start the coffee before taking a minimalist shower and dressing. Less than fifteen minutes later, he was dashing out the door, travel mug in hand on his way to meet his agent.

_Bloody London traffic._

The congestion made him five minutes late and he still had to find a place to park. Miraculously, he found a car park with a space a short distance from his agent’s building. As he walked in, Richard pondered why this meeting was even necessary in the first place. The promotional tour for _An Unexpected Journey_ was about to begin, so he was more or less booked until the beginning of the new year.

It turned out that the promo tour beginning was the reason behind the meeting. Richard’s profile would shortly be at the highest it had ever been and it was suggested that the timing had never been better for trying to crack the American market. It was even suggested he might want to consider moving there.

Richard jumped at the chance.

After weeks of sitting around doing mostly nothing, the opportunity to do _something_ was quite welcome. As he drove home to pack a bag for a four PM flight to New York, he marveled that the day had turned out so much better than he’d anticipated when it started. The next day, he would meet with an estate agent and start the process of house-hunting. It was perfect.

He’d been impatiently waiting for a shot at the US for quite a while. It wasn’t that he was particularly unhappy being a British actor, but what kind of actor would he be if he didn’t want _more_? And now it looked like he might get his chance. He didn’t envision it as a forever move, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to it for the foreseeable future. An acting career was just as much about looking for new opportunities as it was actual acting, and the prospect of making a name for himself in America…well, that wasn’t to be missed. And, if he were being completely honest with himself, being on another continent would certainly make it easier for him to forget his feelings about Maggie.

_Yep, perfect._

That night, Richard went to bed with a view of Central Park South, ready to start the next chapter of his life. The following morning, he met his estate agent - a hilariously flamboyant native New Yorker named Sharon - for coffee before setting out on the hunt. Over the next few days, Sharon showed him what Richard firmly believed was every single vacant property in the city. Most were over his budget and none of them suited. He tried very hard not to be impatient, but if this were going to happen, it needed to happen soon or he’d have to wait until spring. After the _AUJ_ tour came the holidays and then he was due back for pick-up work for _Into the Storm_. Now that he’d committed to making the move in his head, Richard wanted it to happen, like, _yesterday_.

He was just at the point of giving up when Sharon found him a lovely place near Union Square that had just come on the market. It was more than he wanted to spend, but not significantly more, and it was the first place he’d seen that he truly liked. He put in an offer that very day which was accepted that evening, and arrangements were made for closing to take place two days before the beginning of the _AUJ_ tour. Richard flew back to London that night on the red eye, happier than he’d felt in weeks.

_Perfect._

He more than half expected to have a difficult time putting his house up for sale – over the years, he had spent much of his downtime doing DIY projects. He had had a LOT of downtime and there was quite a bit of his sweat and not a little of his blood in every room, but he had long since done all that he could do and it was time to be moving on. He met with an estate agent and listed the property, and then began the process of culling and packing. Five days later, he accepted a very generous offer, and a few days after that, the removal company had carted off the last of his things to be shipped to the States.

The very next day, it all fell apart.

There was a problem with the sellers in New York – there was a lien on the property or some such. Richard didn’t fully understand the legal babble Sharon spewed on the phone, but then, he didn’t understand half of what she said with her accent. He just knew that the upshot was that the sellers were backing out of the deal and all of his possessions were on their way to storage in New York. With the sale of his house about to go through, he was effectively homeless and there was only a week to go before the _AUJ_ junket started.

_Perfect. Just fucking perfect._

The smart thing to do would have been to fly to New York and resume the house hunt, but he just didn’t have the patience. He thought about going home to Leicester, but as he’d be doing that at the holidays, he chose instead to cool his heels in a London hotel room until it was time to fly to Wellington.

And suddenly, he had nothing to do again. And so he brooded.

It seemed he had a lot on which to brood. One, he was bloody angry about the condo deal falling through the way it did. Two, he was days away from his first major press junket and it daunted him. All the interviews, the red carpets, the photo calls. Two weeks, four continents, hour upon hour upon hour of talking. None of those things were amongst his favorites, and the very idea of them exhausted him. And three, there was…well, _her_.

Four months after he’d last seen her and he still missed her just as much as he did those first few days. Maybe more. That was new for him and, frankly, inconvenient. There was simply no time to spend mooning over someone, so he’d just have to put an end to it. If only he knew how. He’d certainly made a bad job of it thus far.

As he was packing the bags he’d be living out of for the duration of the junket, a thought dawned on him that hadn’t before. When he cleared out his house, he put aside the Christmas present he’d been working on for Lizzie, intending to give it to Maggie at the premiere.

_Maggie will be there. I’ll be seeing her soon._

How the hell had he overlooked THAT? All thoughts of putting her out of his mind immediately flew out the window, and the idea of the circus that would surround the opening of the film didn’t seem so bad if he’d get to see her for part of it.

_When are you leaving for Wellington?_

It was the first text he’d sent since Halloween, he guessed. He forbade himself from sitting around staring at his phone and waiting for an answer, so he purposely put it in his pocket and settled in to read a script. It didn’t take long, though, for his phone to beep.

_Um…why am I going to Wellington?_

She was kidding, right? _Hello! For the premiere?_

_Oh that. LOL Sorry. I’m not going to the premiere._

What? What did she mean she wasn’t going to the premiere? She HAD to go to the premiere. _What the hell is she on about? Is she just taking the piss?_ He decided to call her because if she thought she was being funny, he didn’t see the joke.

“Hel-“

“What the hell do you mean you’re not going to the premiere?”

Maggie laughed. “Well hello to you, too, Oakengreeting. I thought it was pretty self-explanatory – I’m not going to the premiere.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You HAVE to go!”

“I’m sorry. ‘ _Have_ ’ to?” She sounded less amused and there was a slight chill in her voice. “I think you’ll find that I don’t, actually.”

_So damn stubborn._ This was getting them nowhere. Richard took a deep breath and tried a different tack. “Well…why aren’t you going? Were you not invited? Because that has to be an oversight.”

“No, I’m sure I could go if I wanted, but… Well, Morag and I have tickets for the first showing at midnight in Glasgow.”

“You don’t _want_ to come?”

“It’s not about wanting, really. It’s… Well, it’s so far to go. I’ve been doing temp work on a production in Edinburgh and Hamish is shorthanded at the pub so I’ve been helping out behind the bar some, too. To go to Wellington, I’d have to take the better part of three days and that’s just for travel. I’d have no time for anything else - not the movie, not to see friends, not even a twenty minute nap, so I’d need at least four, or preferably five, days. It’s just not feasible for me right now.”

“So you’d rather play at being a barmaid than come to the premiere,” he said, and he knew the disappointment was evident in his voice.

“Hey! There’s naught wrong wi’ “bein’ a barmaid” and it isnae about preference. Did ye no just hear me say it isnae feasible? Besides, I’ve ne'er been to ANY premiere. I’m just a makeup artist, for Christ’s sake! I’m no even th’ designer.”

The fact that her accent suddenly became more pronounced should have been a warning, but something inside Richard snapped. “Don’t you ever, EVER say you’re “just” anything ever again. DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU’RE NEVER “JUST”. YOU’RE A GODDAMNED PART OF THORIN – A BIG PART - AND I NEED YOU THERE. DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? JESUS _FUCK_ , MAGGIE.” There was silence at the other end of the phone. _Shit_. He shouldn’t have yelled. He knew that, but… _dammit._ “I’m…” He took another deep breath. “I have a Christmas gift for Lizzie I was going to give to you.” _God, please let her answer. Please._

“J-just…m-mail it to her, or…whatever. I have to go.”

“Maggie, wait, please…”

“I have to go, Richard. Goodbye. Good luck.”

And then she was gone.

It took everything he had not to throw the bloody phone against the wall. _Shit_. He ran a hand over his face and up through his hair. _Shit. Piss. Fuck. Damn. Hell._ Twenty minutes ago, he wasn’t even thinking about her being there, but once he was, it became the most important thing in the world. ‘ _Just’ a makeup artist. Stubborn bloody woman_. He shouldn’t have yelled at her like that, but fuck, she pissed him off sometimes.

_I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry._

Richard didn’t hold out much hope that she’d respond to the text – at least not right away, but he had to try anyway. An hour later, as he handed Lizzie’s package over to the hotel concierge to post, she still hadn’t answered.

_Maggie, please._

Two more texts on the way to Heathrow went unacknowledged. He checked his bags and went through security and decided to try one last time from the VIP lounge.

_Maggie, please answer. I board the plane for NZ soon & I can’t spend the flight knowing you’re mad. Please. I’m sorry._

It was as he heard the final boarding call that his phone beeped. Richard opened the text with trepidation. What if she were still angry?

_Fine. I’m sure I’ll get over it in the time it takes you to fly to Wellington. Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land._

_Am I forgiven?_

_Ask me again when you’re in NZ._

Richard felt a little bit of the weight lift from his chest as he boarded the plane. She was clearly still angry – and he didn’t blame her for that – but at least she was willing to communicate. The flight passed uneventfully. He slept, he read a few scripts, he watched some movies, and then too many hours later, he landed in Wellington and the circus began. If he thought New Zealand got excited about filming, it was nothing compared to New Zealand celebrating a premiere. There was a holiday atmosphere everywhere he went, and it seemed every waking moment was planned. It was good to see so many of the cast and crew again, and they were feted as heroes. There was such a to do, it took a full day until he remembered to get in touch with Maggie.

“Well, that was quite a long flight,” she said by way of greeting. “I thought maybe you’d gotten lost.”

“It’s been a zoo here from the second I landed,” he chuckled. “You’d never believe it. But I’m here. Am I forgiven?”

“You know, you had no right to speak to me that way.”

“I know.”

“And I’m quite proud of what I do, thank you very much.”

“I know that, too.”

“And I’m not at your beck and call, Oakentyrant.”

“Believe me – I know _that_ , too.” Richard smiled. _If she’s using Oaken epithets, she can’t be TOO mad_. “Maggie, I lost my temper and I’m sorry. I never should have spoken to you like that. It’s not an excuse, but…I’m a little jumpy about this press tour and the premieres and I took it out on you. I’m so sorry. Are we still…friends?”

She sighed. “Well…I guess if you can’t take things out on friends, who can you take them out on? Yes, we’re still friends…even if you are a world class jerk sometimes.”

Richard could hear the smile in her voice and he laughed. “You’re more than I deserve, my lady.”

“Damn straight I am,” she giggled. “You don’t need to worry about this junket, you know. You’ll do great – just be yourself. Er, the funny, witty yourself, not the jerky arrogant yourself,” she added with a snicker. “And you will be so busy at the premiere, you won’t even know I’m not there.”

“I doubt that. I do wish you were here – it has to be seen to be believed. You’ll give me your review after you’ve seen the film, yeah?”

“Of course I will. Immediately after, if you want – that’ll be about 3 am,” she laughed.

“Sounds good. Your reaction to it will be freshest then.”

“Richard, I was kid-“

“I wasn’t. Call me, text me, email me. I’ll wait up.”

She laughed again. “Okay, Oakenloon. But I won’t hold it against you if you don’t answer.”

“I’ll answer. But I have to get going now. Take care, okay?”

“Always. You too. And Richard? Just be yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am. Bye.”

Richard chuckled as he ended the call. _Oakentyrant and Oakenloon._ He was in a much better frame of mind as he got ready for the next round of interviews.

And there were a LOT of interviews. After the first day, Richard honestly didn’t think he’d ever spent so much time _talking_ before. He also wasn’t prepared for how many times he had to answer the same questions from different reporters. It didn’t take long before he became unsure how diplomatic he’d be going forward every time someone asked if he wasn’t maybe just a bit “tall for a Dwarf.” He’d done press before, of course, but never on that scale and never for so many hours on end. The press conference wasn’t so bad, because there were others who could answer questions, too; but the “sitting in a room giving five to ten minutes each to a rota of reporters” got real old, real fast.

The payoff was the premiere. It seemed that all of Wellington had turned out for it, and he’d never experienced such a festive atmosphere for the opening of a film before. It was stunning – the red carpet, the people, the reporters, the cameras, the pens thrust into his hand, the camera phones, the costumes that people had put so much work into just to wear them to stand and cheer as the cast walked the carpet. It was insane, and not a little overwhelming, but he had to admit – it was fun.

Sometime between making it off the carpet and going into the cinema, Richard sent Maggie a text: _All of Wellington is here and yet I’ve noticed the one person who isn’t. You’re missed, May-reed._

It wasn’t until several hours later that he was able to see her response: _You clean up nice, Armitazh but I’ve noticed you’re smiling too much. People mightn’t believe you’re moody & bad-tempered if you don’t stop._

Richard grinned when he read her message. S _he must have been watching the live-stream._ For some reason, that made him feel strangely chuffed. It wasn’t as good as her being there, obviously, but it was something and her text may or may not have been responsible for the smile he wore throughout the after-party. The film _may_ have had something to do with it, as well.

A very short while later, time and space ceased to have any meaning and everything became a blur. They went from Wellington to Japan to Toronto to NYC (where Richard was thankfully too busy to dwell on his ill-fated real estate deal) to London. More press conferences, more radio shows, more telly appearances, more hotel room interviews, more red carpets, more premieres, more people, more talking, more noise. Richard knew that there was no guarantee that he would ever be a part of something like _The Hobbit_ again, so he tried to take it all in and memorize as many of the people, sights, and sounds that he could, but it was a losing battle from the start. It was all just too much. It was exhausting, and it was the time of his life. If he never accomplished anything else in his career, he would forever be a part of this, and for that, Richard was proud. And thankful.

Soon enough, _An Unexpected Journey_ opened wide across the UK and he anxiously awaited Maggie's opinion. He sent her a text prior to showtime reminding her he wanted her honest review as soon as the credits rolled. She replied that she hoped she’d still be awake, and she called him “Oakennuisance”.

Shortly after 3 am, Richard’s phone beeped.

_Damn, the person who did your makeup must be brilliant._

Richard laughed. He’d known she’d never even attempt to stroke his ego. _She is. And she’s a big part of Thorin. What did Morag think?_

_Your #1 fan? Her review, verbatim: Give him all the awards! Not sure she means you or 3rd pony on left, though._

_Stop before I blush. :-D_

_Okay, okay. It was so much more than I’d ever imagined. Better?_

_Infinitely._

It was, hands down, his favorite review ever. He loved that, no matter how many people had kissed his arse in the last few weeks, Maggie never would. She always talked to him the way she did everyone else (well, there might have been just a _little_ bit more banter with him). Around her, he could be just Richard, not “Richard Armitage, actor” and he loved it. _God, I miss her._

Not that he had time to dwell. There were still more interviews to give and appearances to make, and then just as quickly as the hoopla started, it was over and it was time to head to Leicester for Christmas. In Richard’s mind, the holidays at home were the perfect antidote to the frenzied pace of the junket. It was just what he needed when he needed it, and it was bliss.

On Christmas night, his phone rang and he was surprised to see Maggie’s name on the ID.

“Must be serious – you always just text,” he answered with a chuckle.

He was unprepared for a very professional-sounding voice to respond. “Mr. Armitage? I have Miss Elizabeth Drummond on the line. Please hold.” Richard smiled as he waited for Maggie to hand the phone over to Lizzie. “Go on, ladybug.”

“M-mister Richard?” she asked, shyly.

“Hi, Lizzie! Happy Christmas!”

“Thank ye for th’ Hobbit. It’s my best Christmas present ever,” she said in as serious a voice as Richard had ever heard a seven year old use.

“You’re welcome and that’s very nice of you to say.”

“It’s true! It’s a verra long book – did ye really read it ALL? For me?”

“Yep, the whole thing, all for you. It IS very long, but it’s very, very good so I didn’t mind. It’s one of my favorite books.”

“We listened tae th’ first two chapters an’ I love it.”

“Good! You’ll have to have your Auntie let me know when you’ve listened to the whole thing. And maybe sometime you could read something to me.”

“I’d like that verra much. Well, Mam says I hafta go tae bed now. Do ye wanna talk tae Auntie?”

“Yes, please, Lizzie. Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you, Mister Richard. Happy Christmas! I love ye! Bye!” She was gone before he could answer and Maggie took the phone back.

“So what’s this? You working on the next generation of the Armitage Army?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Need to start them young so that someone still loves me when I’m old and fat.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you have a fan for life.” She sounded more serious. “What you did…well, it was very sweet and very wonderful.” She _definitely_ sounded more serious. In fact, it sounded like…

“Maggie Drummond, are you crying?”

“Pft. No. Shut up! God, just take a compliment, would you, or I’ll never give you one again.”

“Sorry. Yes, ma’am, I AM sweet and wonderful,” he added, laughing.

She started laughing, too. “Okay there, Oakenego. Happy Christmas, Richard.”

“Happy Christmas, May-reed. Oh, I have something for _you_ – it’s not a present, it’s a picture I took in Wellington and completely forgot about. I’ll send it as soon as we hang up.”

“I’ll look for it. Take care.”

“You too. Bye.”

He ended the call then sent her the picture he’d taken with her landlady, Mrs. Wallace, along with a caption. _She misses you. She refuses to let your flat because she says someone else living there wouldn’t be right._

_Oh! I wondered if you’d stop by, but I didn’t want to ask. Thank you!! How sweet. I miss her so much._

Richard refrained from pointing out that if she had just gone to Wellington like he hoped she would, she’d have been able to see Mrs. Wallace herself, which he thought was quite forbearing of him. But it _was_ Christmas, after all.

Richard stayed with his parents a little longer than usual, soaking up as much of the peace and quiet as he could. He did eventually have to go back to London, though – his estate agent had found him a place in South London to lease until his American estate agent came through with a place for him to buy. He hoped that would be sooner, rather than later.

Luckily, his temporary home was furnished, and he took some time to settle in…with what little he had that he’d not shipped to the States, that is. He was happy to head back to Detroit in February for pick-ups for _Into the Storm_. It gave him something to do for a few weeks. Then he was back to bumming around doing not much but growing his beard until it was time to start doing promotion for _An Unexpected Journey_ on DVD, before continuing on to New Zealand for _Hobbit_ pickups.

As he was packing to fly to Australia for press, he had a horrible thought. What if, like with the premiere, he only _assumed_ that Maggie would be back in Wellington? What if they weren’t using a full crew? He thought that with how labor-intensive prosthetics were, it would be best to have as many hands as possible, but pickup crews were frequently smaller than those on principal photography. Maggie not being there for the premiere was a disappointment, but if she weren’t there for filming…well, that would be a disaster. There was more at stake than him missing her – there was the fact that she had been an integral part of his becoming Thorin. He wasn’t sure he could do it without her. Actually, after all that time, he wasn’t sure he could do it _with_ her, but her being there HAD to be better than if she weren’t.

For the first time in his career, Richard played the movie star card.

He rang up his agent and explained that he was concerned about his ability to find the character after so long a time away, and how important it was to him that the routine he’d established during principal could be replicated. Maggie was part of that routine. A few hours later, his agent called back and said they were, indeed, going with a minimal crew that didn’t include Maggie, but they’d do what they could to get her there. A few days after that, he was told she’d agreed.

_Thank God_. Richard was able to travel to Australia secure in the knowledge that the only person gluing stuff to his face would be Maggie.

Two hundred and ninety-one days after he’d last seen Maggie, Richard flew into Wellington from Sydney. _Two hundred and ninety-one days. Too long_. He should have gotten in touch with her to find out when she’d be arriving, but he figured he’d been patient this long, a little longer wouldn’t hurt. Until then, he was meeting a couple of the lads at a pub they’d frequented on many a Saturday night after filming was finished. He looked forward to it – the time they’d had to socialize during the press tour for _AUJ_ was a blast and he was happy to have a little more fun time before work started.

He ran into Martin on the way in, and once inside, he found that Graham and Stephen were already there. They ordered drinks and found a table.

Then he saw Maggie walk in. And his heart stopped.

She came through the door and it appeared as though she was looking for someone, and he dared hope it was him. He wasn’t that lucky, though – he saw her smile at someone and then step forward to hug…

“What the hell is HE doing here?” he muttered and was out of his seat before he even realized he’d risen.

Graham placed a restraining hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Steady on. It’s not what you think.”

“What the hell is Trevor doing here?” _And why is Maggie hugging him?_

“His name is _Troy_ and…wait for it…”

Just then, Richard saw Maggie’s friend – what was her name? _Nancy? Nora? Nina? Natalie, that was it_ – come from the direction of the restrooms to fly at Maggie and envelop her in a huge hug. When the women parted, he saw Travis wrap a possessive arm around Natalie and rest his hand on her hip while she held her left hand out for Maggie’s inspection.

“Natalie and Trent are together?”

“ _Troy_ ,” Graham corrected.

“Yeah, they’re together,” Stephen added. “And getting married in September.”

_Oh._ The sick feeling in Richard’s stomach abated…for about 30 seconds.

“I can’t believe Maggie’s actually here, can you?” Stephen asked Graham, who shook his head.

“What? Why wouldn’t she be here?” Richard wondered.

Graham was only too happy to answer. “Because they weren’t going to use anyone who wasn’t local, for one thing. And for another, for Maggie to come here, she had to take her name out of the running for the lead makeup artist position on _Vikings_.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

Graham shrugged. “We were on the same flight. I’m going to get another round of drinks. Martin?”

While Martin and Graham went to the bar, Stephen and Richard sat back down.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Stephen asked as he fiddled with a napkin on the table.

“What’s that?”

“Just ask her out.”

“What? Who? I…” Richard sighed and shook his head. “Am I that obvious?”

Stephen smiled. “Only to everyone on the North Island not named Maggie Drummond.”

Richard laughed gruffly. God knew, he _wanted_ to, but… _oh, look at her. Heels, jeans that hugged her curves, a black v-neck sweater that was showing an intriguing amount of cleavage, hair that he wanted to take down and_ …but they worked together, dammit. Giving in to attraction to a co-worker, he knew from experience, could unnecessarily complicate things in a hurry. He’d seen far too many movie set romances create tension for everyone – both cast and crew – when they went south; and the one and only time he’d done it had been with a set dresser years ago and it ended badly enough that he swore never to violate the rule again. _But at least I know for sure that Maggie isn’t married so I’d be spared THAT horrific surprise twice…_

No. Tempting though she was, that rule was necessary, as far as Richard was concerned. He would just be happy that she’d sacrificed a career move to be there and that would be that.

The pub started to fill up with more cast and crew members and Richard started working the room, greeting people. It was his plan to mingle his way toward Maggie, but that proved to be more difficult that he’d have thought. For one thing, everyone in the room seemed to want to talk to him, and that slowed him down. For another, somehow, though he did manage to make progress across the space, he never seemed to be getting any closer. When he did finally make it to where she'd been standing, he looked around to find her in more or less the same spot where he had started.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why it would be so, but it almost felt as if she were avoiding him.

He spent at least another futile hour trying to reach her, and then saw her head toward the washrooms. The were clear on the other side of the pub, but surely no one would think it odd if he made a bee-line in that direction. He managed to get across before she came out, and took up a spot behind a potted palm where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the hallway to the washrooms, and no one would see him and distract him.

Finally, she emerged and stood taking stock of the room as if she were looking for someone.

“You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?” he asked as he tapped her on the shoulder.

She spun around and in that split-second he feared she really was avoiding him, but her face instantly broke into the smile that he loved.

“Now why would I ever do that?” She grinned and stepped toward him to hug him, and his trepidation dissipated immediately. He worried there would be awkwardness, but there wasn’t. They hugged and then instantly fell into comfortable conversation as though it hadn’t been so long since the last time they saw each other.

Richard invited her to sit at his table with the lads and she accepted. It was a great evening: good food, good friends, and lots of catching up. There was drinking, talking, singing, a bit more drinking, and lots of laughter. Eventually, the crowd started to scatter and Richard and Maggie were among the last few left.

“I suppose I should head out, too – I have production meetings in the morning, but…” She trailed off and looked slightly embarrassed.

“But…?” he prompted.

She blushed and it was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “But…tonight has been too wonderful. Seeing everybody – well, I’ve missed this.”

“You know you’re not the only one who feels that way, right?” he asked, drily.

“Well, maybe,” she allowed…and then he yawned. “Okay, that’s it. That’s my cue to head back to the hotel.”

Richard was confused. “What? Why?”

“Because you will keep sitting here out of pity as long as I do, and it’s pretty clear you need sleep.” She stood and he followed.

“I’m not sitting here out of _pity_ , Maggs.”

She smiled. “Yeah, well, whatever your reasons, you need sleep so I’m going to see you to your hotel.”

“Jesus, you’re a bossy woman. Where are you staying?”

“The same place as everyone else,” she replied as they left the pub.

“In that case, then I shall be the one seeing you to _your_ hotel.”

“Whatever, my king,” she giggled and dropped a curtsy.

They walked the short distance to the hotel. In Richard’s opinion, it wasn’t far enough, and the elevator ride to her floor was far too short, as was the walk from the elevator to her room.

“Well, this is me,” she said, and turned toward him. “God, I’m glad I got to see you tonight.” She smiled shyly and took a step toward him then stopped. “I’m going to hug you now so you don’t think I’m avoiding you.” She laughed and moved toward him again, and he took a step forward and hugged her back. Without any conscious thought about what he was doing, he suddenly realized…

…he was kissing her.

_What the hell?_  On the one hand, oh dear lord he was kissing her. On the other, he half-expected her to slap him, or at the very least pull away and laugh. Then his mind registered that not only was she not pulling away, she was actually kissing him back. He deepened the kiss and her mouth opened for him.  _God...yes..._

When they finally pulled apart, he was afraid to try to speak, not that he had any clue what to say. Luckily, she saved him.

“Well…I guess that’s proof I’m not avoiding you, huh?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

They shared a nervous laugh, and he nodded. “You’ll come to breakfast tomorrow before your meeting? It was her turn to nod, and he smiled. “See you tomorrow then.”

Richard leaned in and lightly kissed her forehead then turned and focused on walking away, and he heard her go into her room and close the door.

He was almost to the elevator. What the hell had he just done? He hadn’t planned it, it just…happened. Hadn’t he just told himself that nothing could happen? _But that kiss…_

He told himself he was tired and not thinking. He told himself it was just a temporary lapse in judgment – that the emotions of seeing Maggie again had gotten the better of him. He told himself that, really, one kiss was no big deal. He told himself that it was inevitable that he’d try to satisfy his curiosity _sometime,_ and now that he had, that was that.

He told himself all these things while turning around and walking back to her door.

He raised his hand to knock and his nerve failed him. _What the fuck do I think I’m doing? This could be the single biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time. Unless…_

Richard knocked. Quietly. That way, if she didn’t answer, he could tell himself it was because she hadn’t heard him. He was just about to turn and leave – this time for good – when he heard the door opening. Maggie stood there with an unreadable look on her face, and suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say, so he just stammered out what he was thinking.

“There are…like…a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t be knocking on your door right now.” He spoke quietly and was afraid to look her in the eye.

She said nothing at first and that scared him to death. Finally, she nodded slowly and said, “and there are at least that many reasons why I shouldn’t stand aside and ask you in,” which is exactly what she did, giving him just enough room to walk past her. “Come in,” she said, but he didn’t.

He almost told her to forget it. Better to walk away first before she had time to reject him. But it seemed that one kiss made it impossible for him to pretend he didn't want her.

“If I do, I won’t want…” he began, and the faltered. “…to leave until morning,” he finished and held his breath.

Maggie never said a word. She just stepped further aside to let him pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's good news and bad news. The good news is that I think everyone knows what's coming next. The bad news is that my posting schedule has finally caught up with what I've written, so I don't think I'll be posting on so regular a basis from now on. I'll try to write as fast as I can, but you know...there's real life and writing just isn't as easy as I'd like it to be.


	21. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ҫe soir?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no one is more surprised than I am that I'm posting another new chapter already. All or nothing, me.   
> I ended the poll a few hours earlier than I'd intended, but barring a late rally and/or ballot-stuffing, Richard was going to win in a landslide.  
> So this is where I start to earn (notice my use of the word "start") that 'E' rating I gave myself. Obviously, this chapter is leaning well into NSFW territory. If there's anyone who'd prefer NOT to read it, let me know and I'll happily provide you with a "clean" summary so you're not lost in subsequent chapters.

It was the kiss that damned him. If it hadn’t been for the kiss, he probably could have walked away from the hug and maybe – _maybe_ – Richard would have been able to continue upholding the status quo and pretending he didn’t have feelings for her. _Oh, but that kiss_ … That single, all-too-brief, impromptu kiss that he wasn’t sure who’d instigated had opened the floodgates and there was no holding back from that point.

                Richard walked past Maggie into the room and heard the door close behind him. He should say something, explain himself in some way, but his mind was a blank. He turned, praying something at least marginally coherent occurred to him, but she spoke before he could. 

                “Would you like a drink?”

                “No,” he said, completely forgetting his manners. “I want…” _Oh god, how in the hell do I explain what I want?_ “…you,” he finished lamely with a shrug. But somehow, that one word said everything he needed it to say. 

                He reached for her then. Or she reached for him. Or maybe they reached for each other. He was never quite sure, but it didn’t matter. Was it really possible that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her? He couldn’t quite believe it, and he expected her to stop him at any second. Richard was absolutely prepared for that, but he was going to enjoy himself for as long as it was possible to do so. He tried to memorize everything – the way she smelled, her taste, the way her hands felt buried in his hair, and the way _his_ hands – finally – felt buried in hers. She was so tantalizingly soft and warm in his arms and he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was pulling her closer or she was pressing herself harder against him.

                He might have continued on like that, not taking it any further but content to hold her, kiss her, and touch her, for hours; but before he knew it was happening, she was pushing the jacket down off his shoulders to drop onto the floor. From there, buttons were unbuttoned, zippers were unzipped, and suddenly, somehow, there was Maggie in front of him. _Black lace! So much black lace…_ It was almost too beautiful on her to take off, but he’d be a bloody fool not to see her out of it. He groaned softly as he helped her remove it.

                And then they stood without a stitch of clothing between them. He’d fantasized many, _many_ times about that very moment, but nothing his imagination ever provided came anywhere close to the reality.

                “You are so amazingly beautiful,” he said, quietly, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Surely that had to sound like the lamest line in the history of lines, but if she thought so, she didn’t show it. In fact, she smiled shyly and proceeded to blush fiercely. And that only made her _more_ beautiful.

                Richard pulled her close again and kissed her deeply and this time he noticed how well their bodies fit together. He still expected her to stop him, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps _he_ should be the one to back off, but he couldn’t. If it was going to end, she was going to have to be the one to end it. Maggie could call a halt to it at any time, but he’d never be able t-

                “Shit,” he said and pulled back to see her looking startled. “Condoms. I… I don’t have any,” he stammered with a cringe. _Please God, let her have some…_

She bit her lip in thought and it was clear to Richard that he wasn’t going to be that lucky.

                “Are you clean?” she surprised him by asking.

                “Yes, definitely,” he assured her.

                “Well…so am I and I have the rest covered, so…” 

                Richard didn’t let her finish that sentence, but kissed her fiercely, passionately and she gave back just as good as she got. He kissed his way to her neck and let his hands wander –slowly down the length of her back, over her lovely round bum, then just as slowly back up her sides - and soon found them cupping her breasts. Her breath quickened as she pressed herself hard against his palms and kissed him, letting her own hands roam and driving him insane in the process…and then she pulled back suddenly.

                Here it was: she had come to her senses and was about to point out what a monumental mistake they were mak…

                “Just, um…” She laughed nervously and was looking away from him. “Just remember that…it’s been…” She shifted her weight and blushed even more than before. “Well, just remember it’s been a really, _really_ long time for me.”

                She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on a point on his chest, but he could tell she rolled her eyes in embarrassment. He smiled in relief and gently lifted her chin so she had to look at him. “I never, EVER want to hurt you, Maggie. And besides…” Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. “It’s been a while for me, too. I can’t honestly promise it won’t be over before it starts.”  

                Her reaction surprised him. She smiled – not in embarrassment this time, but slyly, and said, “I think I can probably help with that,” and before he had any clue what was happening, she had dropped to her knees in front of him.  

                “Oh, um…you don’t…I mean, that’s not…” He trailed off and tried to pull away, but she had him trapped in her hands.

                Maggie looked up at him. “Let me,” she said softly and then very slowly and deliberately ran the tip of her tongue over the length of him, and he certainly didn’t have the self-control to try to stop her.

                And oh dear god he didn’t want to stop her…ever. Her mouth was so soft and so wet and so hot… _Holy Christ, is this really happening? If this is a dream, please let me never wake up._ She took her time – licking, and sucking, and stroking him slowly. _Oh-so-maddeningly slowly._ It took everything Richard had to keep his legs under him. He did have just enough hold on himself to warn her when things got critical, but she didn’t stop and then he lost all hold on everything.

                He staggered back to lean against the wall and looked down at her. She was looking up at him with a slight smile. He managed to straighten up and reached down to help her to her feet, and he was gratified by how fast her arms wrapped around him as he cupped her face for a kiss.

                _I could kiss this woman forever._

                Of course, doing so would deny him other things, and he didn’t want to miss any of them. Richard lifted her and moved toward the bed. It was a surreal experience – carrying her to bed like he’d done so many times in his daydreams. Reality so rarely lived up to expectations, but this time, it surpassed them. He gently laid her down on sheets that had already conveniently been turned down and slid in next to her. The simple act of lying naked with her nearly unmanned him. He cupped her face again and kissed his way to her ear.

                “Now, it’s my turn,” he said softly. 

                Maggie tensed and became visibly agitated. “Oh no, that’s not why I… I mean, you don’t have to… I don’t…” She was trying to wriggle away from him, so he tightened his hold on her and stopped her with another kiss.

                “I want to. I want to taste _all_ of you.”

                He felt her relax against him – well, truth be told, she went nearly boneless - and he kissed her again, and there was no hint of protest. He’d meant what he said – he did want to taste all of her, and he was damn sure going to take his time doing it.

                “You can stop me anytime you want to,” he said as he kissed his way down her neck.

                “Aye, right. Like that will happen.”

                He had just kissed his way to her breast, but he lifted his head to look at her. “I mean it, Maggie. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

                She locked eyes with him. “I know,” she answered softly.

                Richard smiled and then dipped his head to take her nipple into his mouth. _Good_. He wanted her to feel comfortable, and he didn’t mean just physically. He wanted her to feel comfortable _with_ him. He just hoped that she wasn’t silently worrying about when the last time was she shaved her legs or something, because he absolutely did not care. 

                All he cared about was kissing, licking, and touching every single part of her, and he set about doing just that, slowly working his way down her body. He loved the feel and taste of her skin and the way her breathing would change. He just hoped his beard wasn’t too scratchy, though she didn't seem to be complaining. He continued his very thorough tour of her body until finally, he settled himself between her legs and softly kissed the inside of her thigh. She let out a nervous giggle and said, “I thought you’d never get there.”

                He looked up at her with a grin. “’Not all those who wander are lost,’ Maggs.”

                A far more natural laugh bubbled up but was cut off abruptly as he ran a finger lightly over her. She was already wet and he couldn’t slow himself down any longer, so he let himself fully taste her as he breathed her in. _Oh my god._ Nothing in his fantasies could ever have prepared him for that absolutely sublime moment and he moaned with the pleasure of it. _Her scent. Her feel. Her taste._ _So, so perfect…_ After a while, he glanced up and saw she had her eyes closed and just the slightest hint of a smile on her face. When he slid a finger in, her breathing caught, and he looked up to see her biting her lip. _Well, dammit._

                “Don’t keep quiet on my account,” he said quietly.     

                “I d –…“ Whatever she had been going to say was cut off by a long, low moan as he moved his finger in a slow circle inside her. _That’s better_.   

                It didn’t take long before the moans came faster and grew ever-so-slightly louder, and she started squirming on the bed. He noticed she was clutching the sheets, so he reached up with his free hand to lace his fingers with hers. Seconds later, her body went rigid, shook, and then completely relaxed.

                He slid up to lay beside her and Maggie reached for him immediately. She pressed herself against him and kissed him deeply, letting her hands roam all over his body.  He loved this. He loved that she wanted him. He loved kissing her and touching her. And oh God, he loved the way she touched him. He loved her. And he loved that he wasn’t going to have to pretend that he didn’t anymore.

                They had rolled so that he was lying on top of her without him really even realizing it. All of a sudden he was aware that she was pressing her hips up against him and he pulled back a little to look down at her.

                “Please,” she whispered.

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes,” she said, so quietly he could barely hear her.

                Richard hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her and he considered telling her no, but the way she was pressing herself against him – _rubbing_ herself against him - was making it impossible. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, then slid inside her as slowly and gently as he could and held himself there. 

                He was prepared to swear that he had never in his life felt anything so good.

                “Oh Christ, Maggie,” he whispered.

                She was already trying to move against him, but he resolutely held himself still, intending to savor the feeling for a few moments more and giving her time to adjust. It wasn’t just physical, though that was certainly part of it. Her heat welcomed and pulled him in, and it felt as though it wrapped itself around all of him, not just his cock. But there was more to it, somehow. Yes, it was a perfect fit, but it was as if everything in the universe suddenly clicked into place at once to make that moment happen. It was perfect and it was terrifying.

                “Are you okay?” they both asked each other simultaneously.

                They laughed and nodded and kissed again. Maggie started moving her hips harder against him, urging him to move with her, and he couldn’t help but respond. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he forced himself to thrust as gently as he could. _God, she feels incredible_ – her body beneath his, her breath on his skin, her hands roving over his back and shoulders and the back of his head, her legs locked tightly around his hips, her pelvis grinding against his, and her pussy squeezing his cock. He leaned down for another kiss out of a compulsion to touch every part of her with every part of himself, and she moaned into his mouth.  When she shook and softly called his name, it sent him over the edge, and then he collapsed on top of her.

                It took a few minutes for enough blood to return to Richard’s brain so he could think clearly, and he realized that neither of them had moved – she still held him.

                “Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He asked as he rolled off of her.

                “Shhh…” Maggie touched his face and kissed him softly. “I’m fine. I said it had been a long time, not that I was a virgin.”  

                He half-expected that now things would get awkward, but they didn’t. They talked about so many things, just like they would have normally – like they weren’t lying naked together, but sat on her couch at Mrs. Wallace’s.  She asked if he still thought she was avoiding him, and he rolled his eyes and laughed. It was all so comfortable and relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that he realized she was starting to fall asleep.

                “May I stay?” He asked softly. He wanted nothing more than to hold her all night, but wanted to be polite and ask.

                Her eyes opened with a start and she looked at him as though trying to judge if he were kidding. “Of course. You said you wouldn’t want to leave until morning…but you’re not even drunk. Are you sure you want to?” she added with a wink and then started laughing.

                Richard laughed, too, and then, in mock outrage asked, “you think I had to be drunk to get me into bed?” and started tickling her…which made them both laugh harder.

                Inevitably, the tickling and the laughing and the squirming took a far more serious turn and led to more lovemaking, this time with Maggie on top. If Richard thought she was beautiful knelt before him or lying beneath him, it was nothing to how she looked as she rode him. All too quickly, he was holding her as she spasmed around him which triggered his own orgasm, and then it was her turn to collapse on top of him.

                Richard would gladly have held her all night like that, but he gently rolled Maggie to the side and she snuggled in with her head on his chest and one leg draped over his. He lay there, listening to her breathing even out and playing with her hair. He tried to stay awake as long as he could, but exhaustion finally caught up to him and he drifted off, honestly happier than he’d ever been in his life.


End file.
